Mid–Life Crisis
by George Stark II
Summary: House/Wilson slash. Wilson's confusion over his feelings for his best friend lead him to desperate measures that begin to interfere with not just his own life, but the lives of those around him as well. Rated M for Mature.
1. Chapter 1

**Summary:** House/Wilson slash. Wilson's confusion over his feelings for his best friend lead him to desperate measures that begin to interfere with not just his own life, but the lives of those around him as well. Rated M for Mature.

**Disclaimer:** I don't own House. I don't own Wilson. I don't own Cuddy. I don't own Sam. I don't own any of the other "House M.D." characters that may show up in this story, either.

**A/N:** Hey all. I'm only saying this once, so please listen up. There will be SEVEN (7) chapters. And I'm going to apologise in advance for the variance of chapter lengths—figuring out how to split a story into chapters that make sense is one of the hardest parts of writing, particularly since some of my scenes last like 14 pages and some of my scenes are only a couple of paragraphs. And this is one of those that changes POV so obviously I want to start a new chapter whenever that happens, anyway...I'll put up a new chapter every day because I'm nice. Thank you for reading.

Mid-Life Crisis

**Wilson**

The music was loud. Very loud. And the lights, though not bright, were colourful and distracting. It was making Wilson uncomfortable.

All right, it wasn't the music and the lights, it was the whole situation making him uncomfortable. What was he doing here? He didn't belong here. He should leave.

_Yes_, he thought, smiling to himself. That's what he would do. He would leave, he would go home, he would tell Sam he didn't have to work late after all, and then he would make love to her like he did every night. It was a perfect plan.

Before Wilson could get up and carry out this plan, however, the bartender placed a glass of wine in front of him.

"Here's your Zinfandel," the man said before turning around to go help another customer.

Wilson remained seated. Now that he'd been given his wine, he would have to pay for it, so he might as well sit for a moment and drink it. He'd thought about ordering something stronger than wine—it would help with the nerves and lower his inhibitions, which would definitely be helpful in this situation—but not only did getting too drunk always cause him bedroom problems, Wilson kind of wanted his wits about him tonight.

He sipped the Zinfandel slowly, staring at the counter of the bar instead of looking around.

That's what he would do. He would have just one drink, then he would go home, and maybe...if he really needed to...he could come back another time and try again.

Relief coursed through Wilson at this thought. It was all right. He could leave. He could always come back if he felt he needed to. _Only_ if he felt he needed to. Otherwise he could just spend the rest of his life with Sam and be happy with her.

Yes. This was just Plan B. Sam was Plan A.

Wilson smiled, feeling better now that he'd made the decision to leave, but then the back of his neck got the prickly feeling that meant someone was looking at him.

The relief was instantly replaced by fear. Someone was looking at him? Why would anyone be looking at him? They must have the wrong idea...they must not realise that Wilson was going to be going home in a few minutes...

Slowly, hesitantly, Wilson picked his head up and moved his gaze down the bar until his eyes came to rest on a thirtyish blond man wearing tight-but-not-too-tight dark jeans and a colourful but tasteful button-down shirt. Wilson gulped. This was the guy that had been looking at him. And now, without even meaning to, Wilson had made eye contact. The man's eyes were blue. They weren't nearly as vibrant as House's—not even close—but they were...pretty. And the man himself was...attractive...

_No!_ Wilson cursed himself for thinking that. No, he didn't think guys were attractive. Well, he could appreciate male beauty for aesthetic reasons, like he did with Dr. Chase, but he wasn't _attracted_ to men.

Except...sort of...for House.

But only sort of. Really. Only sort of. Wilson didn't even know what it was. Attraction...maybe it was just a man-crush. That happens sometimes. Just because sometimes you feel like you want to do your best friend of the same sex doesn't mean you're gay. Of course not. Especially since you already _know_ you're definitely attracted to the opposite sex. You've had crushes on girls since elementary school, and you've fallen in love with them almost more times than you can count. If you really were gay, wouldn't your affairs have been with men?

Wilson broke eye contact with the blond man, turning back to the bar instead. Really, coming here had been a stupid idea. He wasn't gay. He wasn't.

That...was what he was trying to prove.

And how was he going to prove it if he just sat at a bar all night drinking White Zinfandel?

Nervous, Wilson looked up again. The man was looking in another direction, but he must have felt Wilson's gaze because he turned back to him, made eye contact again, and smiled. Wilson tried to smile back, but he failed to give the flirty, charming smile that he usually used to get into someone's pants. He knew his smile was just nervous.

However, the guy was either endeared by nervous or he thought the pickings were slim, because he started walking toward Wilson.

_Oh no_, Wilson thought, feeling his heart start beating quickly in his chest. The guy was coming over to talk to him. Now what? What was he supposed to do?

"Hi," the young man said, smiling at Wilson slightly flirtatiously. "What's your name?"

"I'm...James," Wilson said, eyes darting about a bit before returning to the other man's.

"Victor," he said, sitting down on the barstool next to Wilson. "I haven't seen you around here before, James. Are you new to the area?"

Wilson shook his head. "I..." he said, looking at the bar again, "I've never...uh...I mean, I don't usually...I..."

He glanced up at Victor to see comprehension take over his face. The younger man gave a warm smile. "It's your first time at a gay bar?" he asked gently. He had a very calm, soothing voice that for some reason made Wilson feel more comfortable than he'd been a moment ago.

Blushing, the older man nodded. "I mean...I don't even...I don't...I don't even know if I'm gay," he whispered, terrified at saying the words out loud. He glanced around quickly as though afraid someone other than Victor might have heard him. As though the rest of the men in this bar weren't gay as well. "I..." he said, starting to lose his nerve again, "I really don't think I am. You should...you might have more luck with somebody else."

Victor chuckled slightly. "Well there must be some reason you're here, James. And I'm guessing it's not the drink prices."

Wilson smiled weakly. He noticed one of Victor's hands moving closer to him before resting gently on his arm. His already increased heart rate sped up even further, but Wilson couldn't tell if it was due to nerves or attraction. "I..." Wilson said, catching Victor's eye for a second and then looking away again. He didn't know what else to say. He didn't know where this was going.

"James..." Victor said softly, and Wilson looked up at him again. His thumb gently stroked the doctor's arm. "It's okay to be confused," he continued, soothing. "It takes some people longer than others to figure out who they really are and what they really want. Maybe you're bisexual. Maybe you are gay, or maybe you're not at all. But if you're not sure, one way to figure it out is to experiment."

Still smiling at Wilson, the young man swivelled his bar stool slightly so their knees touched. He trailed his hand down Wilson's arm and laced their fingers together.

It felt odd to Wilson, who was usually the seducer, to for once be the seducee. He wondered if he should go along with it...and the idea scared him, causing his heart rate to jump through the roof again. But Victor's hands were soft...

"Come over to my place," Victor requested gently. His thumb stroked Wilson's. "I can help you...figure some things out."

"I..." Wilson repeated, somehow maintaining eye contact. "I haven't exactly...ever...with a guy...I don't..."

"It's okay," Victor soothed. "We can go slowly. We don't have to do anything you're not comfortable with. But unless you try, James, you're going to be spending the rest of your life sitting on stools in gay bars wondering who you're supposed to be."

At the moment, the prospect actually seemed quite attractive to Wilson—much safer and more comfortable than going to a stranger's house and having sex with him...but Victor had a point. The only way Wilson could figure out if his feelings for House were real or just a fluke was to figure out if he really was gay or bi, and sleeping with a guy...as mortifying as it sounded...should help him do that.

Looking at his knees, Wilson nodded. With the hand not holding Victor's attached to the back of his neck, he glanced up and caught the younger man's eye. He whispered, "Okay."

.

_What was I thinking?_ Wilson thought over and over again on the car ride to Victor's place. Seriously. He was in the car with a complete stranger, going over to his place to have sex with him. Had someone drugged his wine? This was just...no. He couldn't do this. He couldn't do this.

"We're here," Victor said, smiling flirtatiously at Wilson as he parked. Wilson tried to smile back but he didn't think he quite managed it. He got out of the car, where Victor met him on the other side and took his hand again, giving it a reassuring squeeze that didn't really reassure Wilson. "Come on," Victor smiled. "Let's go upstairs."

Victor's flat was on the third floor and Wilson somehow let himself be led up and inside. He wasn't entirely sure why he didn't just tell the young man he changed his mind and call for a cab home, but the fact that this was still an option comforted him. He could still back out at any second. He _would_ back out. Of course he would back out. He wasn't_ actually_ going to sleep with this guy he just met. But he didn't need to back out right this second. He could wait another few minutes...see how far it would go before he lost his nerve. Yes, that's what he would do. He would back out, just not quite yet.

The blond led the brunet to a black leather sofa in a modern, tastefully decorated living room. There was an entertainment centre with a large collection of DVDs varying in genre and a shiny black stereo in the corner as well as a wet bar. But Wilson's assessment of the apartment was interrupted when he felt a hand on his knee. He turned to its softly smiling owner. "Are you all right, James?"

Wilson nodded. "Yeah," he said. He wanted to do this. He needed to do this. He needed to know...was he attracted to men too? Could he really be falling in love with House? He had to do this. "Yeah," Wilson repeated. "Just...a little nervous."

"That's okay," Victor comforted. He smiled. "You know, you're kinda cute when you're nervous. It's actually quite endearing."

Wilson blushed and smiled. Victor scooted closer to him on the sofa so the sides of their legs were touching. Then, moving slowly and carefully gauging Wilson's reaction, he leaned forward until their faces were just inches apart. Wilson could feel his breath on his face. The younger man closed the distance until their lips met, giving Wilson a soft, chaste kiss.

That was the point at which Wilson freaked out. "Whoa," he said, pulling back from the kiss and scooting to the far end of the sofa. "Victor, stop. I can't. I...can't." Looking away, he got up of the sofa and began pacing. "I'm sorry, I can't do this. I...I don't even know what I'm doing here–"

"James," Victor said gently, but Wilson continued as though he hadn't heard him.

"–I need to call my girlfriend, I need to tell her I'm coming home, I need to call a cab–"

"James," he repeated, getting up himself and approaching Wilson carefully.

Wilson took his phone out of his pocket, shaking his head at Victor, and began to dial Sam's number. "I need to get home, I need to–"

"_–James_," Victor said firmly, a hand closing around the wrist that held the phone.

Wilson looked up at him.

Victor plucked the phone from his hand and placed it on a table. He shook his head. "James, relax," Victor said, and somehow Wilson felt his body begin to obey the command without even meaning to. The young man did have a very calming voice. He took both of Wilson's hands in both of his own and held them together. "James, it's okay. You're just nervous."

"No," Wilson contradicted, shaking his head but not pulling his hands from Victor's. "It's not that, I just...I shouldn't be doing this. This is crazy. I need to go home."

"James, you're scared," Victor said, stroking his fingers comfortingly. "And I understand. I was scared my first time too."

"Victor, listen," Wilson said, his eyes darting around the apartment. "I'm sorry—look, I know you were hoping to get laid tonight, but I just can't–"

"–How about this?" Victor suggested gently. "How about we try the kissing again—for more than a nanosecond—and if you're still uncomfortable with it and don't want to go any further, I promise I won't pressure you." He squeezed Wilson's hands. "Does that sound okay?"

Wilson had to give him credit—he was a charmer. He knew what to say and how to say it. The young man's soothing voice and touch relaxed Wilson and reminded him he was here for a reason. He need to do this, at least try this. He'd just panicked, and he hadn't even sat through the kiss long enough to see whether he liked it or not. Wilson nodded, and Victor took a step closer to him, smiling and running a hand affectionately through his hair. Wilson, trying to be braver than he was, took a step closer as well.

Victor slowly wrapped an arm around Wilson's waist and Wilson hesitantly placed a hand on either side of Victor's. Victor gave Wilson's lips a gentle peck, pulling away from it before the older man had a chance to freak out again, and then slowly locked their lips together, pressing his body close to Wilson's.

This time Wilson let the younger man keep their lips together. His heart was beating loudly enough in his chest that Victor could probably hear it, but he kept his eyes closed and pressed his lips against the other man's because that was why he had come here in the first place.

It...wasn't unpleasant. It was a guy and that was weird because he'd never kissed a guy before, but it wasn't really different from kissing a girl. Victor had soft lips and he was clean-shaven. Kissing someone like House would probably be a different experience altogether.

Wilson smiled involuntarily at this thought.

_That_ was why he was here. Because the thought of kissing House, of feeling House's lips against his...that was something Wilson wanted. Or thought he wanted. And hopefully this would help him see if he really could want it, really could want more with him...

He had absolutely no idea what he would do if he discovered that he was attracted to men and therefore in love with House—there was almost no way his best friend returned his feelings. But if Wilson _was_ straight, if sex with Victor was thoroughly unenjoyable, then he needn't worry about whether he wanted House to return his feelings at all because there would be no feelings to return in the first place.

_That _was why he was here.

Victor pulled back from the kiss and Wilson opened his eyes to look at him. The young man slid a couple of fingers through Wilson's hair. "Was that okay?" he asked.

Wilson nodded. "Yeah..." he said, smiling slightly. "Thanks for...talking me into it. You were right. I was just nervous. I mean...I still am...but...I think I'm a little more comfortable now."

Victor smiled at him. "Good," he said. "Should we try again?"

"All right," Wilson agreed softly.

Wrapping his arms around him again, Victor moved to close the distance and Wilson met him halfway. They kissed, and Wilson felt a tongue nudge his lips. Oh. Well, that was the next step, of course. So he parted his lips very slightly and let the tongue in. It explored his mouth, curious. This...all right. New, because it was a guy, but...all right. Not gross. Just...he was kissing a guy. Okay.

They continued to kiss, pulled apart for a second for a breath, making eye contact, and then went back and resumed the kiss. Victor's tongue coaxed Wilson's into his mouth, which he hesitantly probed. Really, no different from a woman's. And he tasted rather nice, like cinnamon. Victor must chew cinnamon-flavoured gum.

So Wilson kept kissing him, and moved one of his hands up Victor's back, feeling the skin and muscles beneath his shirt. He must work out. Victor's hands also moved—one rested on the back of Wilson's neck and the other was making its way down his back. It paused at the small of Wilson's back and then very slowly crept downward to feel Wilson's ass.

Okay. Wilson hesitated for a short second but did not break the kiss. This was okay. When Victor's hand did not meet resistance, it cupped one of Wilson's ass cheeks and then squeezed slightly.

It...felt nice. Almost surprisingly, Wilson started to feel a tingling. Oh. Wow. This...really? This...kissing a guy...having a guy feel him up...this was turning him on? Oh...kay.

Wilson's comfort level began to descend again, but this time the nervousness was accompanied by a twinge of excitement. Maybe he actually would...have sex with a guy tonight. And maybe...scarier still...maybe he might actually enjoy it.

They broke from their kiss, once again needing to breathe, but after a few seconds Victor moved his lips to the side of Wilson's face instead of his mouth. He kissed his way over to Wilson's ear and then suckled behind it, and Wilson actually had to hold back a moan. Yeah...that...even coming from a guy...he liked that.

Wilson ran his hands across Victor's back, and he had to admit he liked that too. Then, hesitantly, he also reached a hand down to cup the other man's ass. His fingers massaged gently, getting a feel for it. Wilson felt a puff of air hit the side of his neck as Victor exhaled sharply, and then the younger man made a "hmm," sound and gave little kisses to Wilson's neck. He shifted their bodies, pressing closer together, and Wilson was surprised to feel a hardness against his hip.

Without meaning to he let go of Victor and stepped back. Nervous again. That was new. That was...a little too new.

"James, you okay?" Victor asked, slightly breathless.

"Uh..." Wilson said in lieu of a real answer. He tried to look at Victor's flushed face, but his eyes kept flickering down to the tented front of his pants. That was...well...it was sort of kind of hot, that Wilson had caused that to happen, but...also...weird.

"James," Victor smiled, stepping up to him but not close enough for their bodies to touch again. He slipped his hand into Wilson's. "It's okay. We've got time." He leaned forward and pressed a closed-mouth but lingering kiss to Wilson's lips. He pulled back and looked Wilson in the eye. It struck the older man what a dark blue colour the younger's eyes were. "Come to bed with me," Victor whispered.

Wilson nodded.

The bedroom was tastefully decorated like the rest of the apartment. Colourful, abstract art hung on the walls and the furniture was dark wood.

Leading him by the hand, Victor took Wilson to the king-sized bed, where they both sat down on the edge. Victor leaned down to take off his shoes and Wilson copied him. Then the blond scooted farther in and Wilson followed.

"You okay?" Victor checked, and the older man nodded. Victor smiled. "I'm going to take my shirt off? We good with that?"

Wilson smiled shyly. "Yeah."

"Okay," Victor nodded, and he leaned forward to give Wilson a quick kiss before undoing his buttons. Wilson watched as Victor took his shirt off, checking him out on purpose. Yes, he had a nice body. Toned and defined, but not overly muscular. There was some hair on his chest, but it was very light blond. After the shirt was off, Victor and Wilson looked at each other. "You can touch me, you know," Victor reminded him.

Wilson nodded and leaned forward slowly, running a hand over the younger man's pectorals down his abdomen. Victor curled an arm around him, pulling him closer, and then laid them both on the bed on their sides, facing each other. He glanced at Wilson to check his comfort level before starting to kiss him again. Wilson kissed back, feeling Victor's upper body. This...was different from a woman. No breasts. Hair. Flat. Different...but not in a bad way. The nipple still hardened when he experimentally ran his fingers over it, not brave enough to actually play with it yet. This...he could do this.

He was aware that Victor was pulling at Wilson's buttons while they kissed, but he was all right with that. As kisses became more intense he felt himself responding to them more. If they kept this up, which it seemed like they would, he would have a full-blown erection before long. Which...kind of scared him.

When Victor had Wilson's shirt fully unbuttoned and made to take it off, the older man helped him. He was rewarded by a series of kisses to his clavicle and a pinch to his nipple, which helped him fill out the rest of the way.

Wilson was aware of one of Victor's hands travelling downward, and it put him on edge but he didn't stop him. They needed to do this. They needed to get to the main part. Victor cupped Wilson's hard-on and he expelled a breath of air against the younger man's neck. Yes, that was nice.

Victor gave him a couple of squeezes, and Wilson bit his lip to keep from moaning. He gripped Victor's waist and pressed kisses to the back of his neck. Then Victor's hand left his penis and found one of Wilson's hands. Giving it a squeeze, he slowly guided it toward the front of his own pants.

Wilson froze when his palm met the hot, throbbing bulge at Victor's crotch, pulling his hand away immediately. That...okay, it was _weird_. In bed, _Wilson_ was supposed to be the one with the erection, and the other person was supposed to have a vagina. That was how it went, okay? And even as Victor ran a hand through Wilson's hair and caught his eye to ask if they were okay, Wilson felt his own erection waning. He didn't know if it was the shock...or the newness or the weirdness, but whatever it was...

"I don't know," Wilson said, shaking his head. "I...it's weird, Victor."

"It's all right," Victor said, kissing Wilson's forehead. "We can take it slow."

So they started again, kissing and hands exploring everywhere but the groin area. Wilson was slightly embarrassed that the one time Victor's hand did drift to his crotch, it found only softness, but the younger man did not comment on it and after a few more minutes of kissing and miscellaneous fondling he was becoming hard again.

After a little while Victor pulled back and caught Wilson's eye. "I'm going to put your hand on me again," he said. "Is that okay?"

Wilson nodded. When they tried kissing the second time, it had worked, so hopefully this would work better on the second try too. He let Victor lead his hand to his hard-on, and this time the older man didn't jerk away and go soft when he encountered it. He spent a second just resting his hand there, getting used to the feeling, and then tried an experimental rub through the material.

"James, yeah," Victor said, shuddering at the touch.

Encouraged, Wilson rubbed again, still hard himself, and he felt Victor shivering and pressing himself into his touch.

Victor kissed Wilson's throat and stuck his own hand to the other's crotch to reciprocate. Wilson also leaned into the touch, feeling himself throbbing, and shuddering when Victor's hand squeezed him. After a few seconds of fondling, Victor's hand trailed up, meeting the other one at the waistband of Wilson's pants to take them off.

Wilson's heart jumped in his chest at what this next step meant, but he didn't pull away. He mouthed Victor's chest and rubbed him beneath his pants and allowed his pants and boxers to be taken off.

Once Wilson was pants-less, Victor leaned him on his back on the bed, panting, and pressed a quick kiss to the side of his mouth before reaching to take off his own pants. He slid the jeans down his legs, followed by silky black boxers, and poised himself over Wilson. His pulsing erection and balls poked out of a mass of curly blond pubic hairs.

And it hit Wilson—he was naked in bed with a _man_, about to have _sex_, and his panic returned full-force.

"James, what's the matter?" Victor asked, most likely at the horrified expression on Wilson's face.

"I..." Wilson said, scrambling around to find an article of clothing to cover himself with. He didn't know if he wanted to hide himself from view because there was absolutely no way in _hell_ he was going to have sex with a man—he was straight, for god's sakes!—or because he was ashamed of the fact that he was going completely flaccid again and didn't want Victor to see. "I can't do this, Victor," he said without catching the other man's eye. Having used his shirt to cover his crotch, he was free to look around for his boxers and khakis. "I don't know what I was thinking." There they were. Turning his body away so Victor wouldn't see him, he started to pull his pants back on. "This is nuts, this is...a huge mistake. I'm sorry, I can't–"

"–James," Victor said, putting a hand on Wilson's shoulder in comfort, but Wilson shrugged it off and moved away from him. Pants successfully on, he fumbled to right the inside-out sleeves of his shirt to put that back on as well.

"No, I just..." Sighing, Wilson turned to Victor. His blue eyes were soft and apologetic. Wilson shook his head. "I'm straight, Victor. I don't know why I was even in the bar tonight. I'm sorry I led you on–"

"–You're confused," Victor corrected. "James, I'm certainly not gonna force you into anything, but we both know you were enjoying yourself. If you want to stop, fine, we can stop. But I think you're just panicking because this is new for you and you're nervous."

Wilson shook his head again. "I...I can't do it, Victor. Maybe...maybe I'm a little confused, but I've gotta be straight, I can't even fucking keep it up," he muttered. Pulling his shirt on, he stood up and got off the bed. Victor, still erect, grabbed for his boxers and pulled them on to follow him. "I've gotta go home," Wilson said, either to himself or to Victor. "I need to see Sam—Samantha–" yes, that part was for Victor's benefit "–I need to tell her I love her. Don't know what I'm doing here. I'm straight, Victor."

Spying his phone on a table in the living room, Wilson grabbed it and scrolled through his contacts lists for the number of the cab company he had stored in there. It had proven very useful on nights he and House had gone out drinking. House...Wilson shook his head. He wasn't in love with House. He was mistaken. Whatever it was...it was a phase, Wilson would get over it. But certainly wasn't attraction and it certainly wasn't stronger-than-platonic love. It was biologically impossible for Wilson to be attracted to or in love with House or any other man for that matter. Because he was heterosexual. He wouldn't have flinched at kissing a guy, touching a guy, and seeing a guy naked and he wouldn't have gone flaccid making out with a guy twice in the same night if he wasn't straight. That was all there was to it.


	2. Chapter 2

**Wilson**

"Sam, I'm home," Wilson announced, entering the condo and dropping his keys in the ceramic bowl they kept in the front hall.

There wasn't a response, so either she was in the bedroom or bathroom and hadn't heard him or perhaps she'd already gone to sleep. His call certainly hadn't been loud enough to wake her if she had.

Wilson made his way inside, deciding he would take a shower before bed if Sam was already sleeping or awake but not in the mood, but he paused when he noticed a post-it on their bedroom door.

J-

Gone to spend the night at Elena's.

S

Confused, Wilson picked the note from the door and even checked the back to see if there was anything else. It was so abrupt. He hoped everything was all right. Elena was Sam's sister and she lived outside of Trenton, but Wilson couldn't imagine why his girlfriend would need to stay with her unless something was wrong.

He quickly got out his phone and called Sam up, but there was no answer. He thought about finding Sam's address book and calling Elena's home, but it was late and Elena had kids, so if everything was, indeed, all right, neither Sam nor her sister would appreciate the call.

So Wilson, slightly unnerved and more than slightly baffled, took his shower and went to bed, alone, for the first time in months.

.

Sam did not answer her cell phone the next morning either, and when Wilson tried Elena he just got the family's recorded voicemail message. With a feeling that something was very wrong but unsure what, Wilson tried to go about his morning telling himself that everything was fine. He would see Sam when he got home from work today and it would all get cleared up. Maybe Elena had just needed a last-minute all night babysitter or something.

Wilson was not sure why he decided to leave the hospital and go home for lunch. It wasn't something he normally did, but for some reason today he just felt compelled to take a longer lunch than usual, go back to the condo, and maybe make himself a nice salad or something when he got there.

He was very interested in what House's take would be on the situation. The diagnostician would, of course, mock the idea of fate or divine intervention, but what other explanation was there? Was it a sixth sense? Coincidence? Why did Wilson feel such a strong urge to go home this particular day?

All he knew was that when he opened the door to his home, it was to find an alarmed Sam packing things into boxes.

"James!" she gasped when he walked in, clutching a hand to her chest and clearly shocked to see him. "What are you doing home?"

"I could ask you the same question," Wilson frowned, taking in the scene around him.

Most of the stuff at the condo was Wilson's, but the things Sam had brought with her—some dishes, decorations, and DVDs—were now overflowing from the cardboard boxes scattered around the condo. Wilson also noticed several luggage containers near the hall that led to the bedroom. His hands when to his hips automatically. "Sam, what the hell's going on?"

"Well I could ask _you_ the same question," Sam retorted, folding her arms across her chest and blushing at being caught. "You know, I actually believed you when you said you had to work late—I told myself you had grown up, learned from your mistakes, and actually changed. But really, at least you didn't lie to me when you promised me that this time I'd be the only woman you'd sleep with. Leave it to James Evan Wilson to find a loophole enabling him to cheat!" And she turned away from him, stalking off to grab a roll of packing tape from the kitchen counter.

"What?" Wilson said, panic rising in his chest. From what she'd said, it sounded like...like she'd known where he'd been last night...but how could she _possibly...? !_ "What are you talking about?" he asked, noticing his voice sounded slightly higher than usual.

Sam scoffed, shaking her head at him. "A word of advice, James. If you're gonna cheat, make sure your phone is turned off so you don't accidentally _call_ your girlfriend—or boyfriend, if that's what's gonna happen now—when you're about to have sex with another person."

Ice flooded through Wilson's system, and sounds and images from the night before swam to the front of his consciousness.

_Wilson took his phone out of his pocket, shaking his head at Victor, and began to dial Sam's number. "I need to get home, I need to–"_

_"_–James_," Victor said firmly, a hand closing around the wrist that held the phone._

_Wilson looked up at him._

_Victor plucked the phone from his hand and placed it on a table. He shook his head. "James, relax."_

Wilson looked at Sam in horror. He hadn't just searched his contacts list for Sam's number—he'd found it and dialled it. And Victor...when he took the phone out of Wilson's hands and put it down...he must not have noticed it was ringing...he must not have pressed 'end'...

"Sam..." Wilson said, shaking his head. "It...it's not what you think–"

"–Oh, give it a rest, James," she sighed, sounding defeated. "I heard everything I need to hear last night. You lied to me about working late so you could go and fuck some guy. Don't even try to deny it, it's not worth it."

"You...you don't understand," Wilson stammered, hurrying over to her. "We didn't even have sex, Sam, I swear. I...was just...I was feeling a little confused, but nothing happened! We didn't have sex! We _couldn't_ have sex! I'm straight, and I love you."

Sam backed away from him, shaking her head. "Frankly, James, at this point I don't care anymore. I wanted to try it again, I wanted it to work this time, really. But I just can't trust you. I hung up the phone after hearing five minutes of you kissing, so maybe you're telling the truth and it didn't go farther than that, but I don't care. It's still cheating, James, and what am I supposed to do? Spend anther six months with you until you decide you're gay and leave me for some guy?"

"Sam, I'm not gay–" Wilson started to say, but his ex-wife just cut him off.

"–I don't know what to believe, James," she said. "I don't know what to believe anymore. But I can't do this. Not again. If it's not a woman it's a man. I'm never gonna be good enough for you, am I, James?"

"Sam, of course you–"

"–Whatever, James," she shrugged without looking at him. "It doesn't matter anymore. We're done. For good this time." She walked past him to the other side of the room, where she kneeled down next a box and started to tape it shut.

Wilson stared at her. "Sam, listen to me–" he tried again.

"–I'm done listening. Just forget it, James. Why don't you go back to work, and I'll be out of your hair within the hour, I promise."

Wilson drove back to work despondently. He didn't know what else to do—she'd really made up her mind. She'd intended for him to come home to an empty condo, just like last time she didn't have the balls to break up with him to his face. But he was also still mortified at the fact that she'd known about Victor. What if she told someone? What if this somehow got out?


	3. Chapter 3

**House**

House walked into Cuddy's office.

"Hey," she said, smiling at him. "We're looking good for dinner tonight—I just finished my last meeting and all I've got is some paperwork. I should be done by six."

"Yeah..." House said, avoiding her eye and glancing out her window. "About that, we've gotta cancel."

"What?" she said, confused. "Why?"

"Sam dumped Wilson," House said with a shrug, looking at her. "We kinda have this...tradition...he breaks up with the catch of the day, I help him forget about her by getting him wasted. And this only happens like once every couple years, so I can't miss it."

Cuddy rolled her eyes. "House, we've been planning this dinner for two weeks! Can't Wilson find someone else's shoulder to cry on, at least until tomorrow or something?"

"Come on, the man was just dumped by this harpy for the second time. Now he doesn't have a vagina to crawl into every night. He's grieving." She just scoffed again, so House sighed. "Lisa, you wanted me to be the guy that shows he actually cares for people other than himself. What kind of best friend would I be if I just ditched Wilson for you when he needs me the most?"

"You know what, fine," Cuddy said, glaring at him. "Fine, just ditch_ me_ for Wilson. Forget about what I need. Go be with your friend, go get so drunk you puke all over each other, do whatever you want, I don't care."

"Thanks," House replied cheerfully. He walked around his girlfriend's desk to peck her on the temple, but she just gave him a death glare so he backed away.

.

Wilson sat in his office looking miserable, like House expected, when he barged in without knocking. The oncologist looked gloomily up at his friend. "What do you want, House?"

"Nothing much," House shrugged. "Just do get you drunk. Ease the pain a little."

Wilson gave House a bewildered look. "How did you know we...? House, I didn't even_ tell_ you yet."

"I've got my sources," House smirked. He prodded Wilson's shoulder with his cane. "Come on. Get up. Unless you have a stash I don't know about there's no way you're getting drunk sitting in your office."

"It 4:45," Wilson muttered without looking at him.

House rolled his eyes. "And by the time we get down to your car, stop at the liquor store, and drive back to my apartment it'll be after five. Come on, Wilson. You just got dumped, you don't seriously think you're gonna get any more work done today."

Wilson sighed and closed the file he'd been pretending to read. "Fine," he said, getting up and grabbing his keys. "You win. Let's...get this over with."

.

Wilson was quiet. He always was after a breakup. Lost in his own thoughts, House supposed. He sipped at the scotch they'd bought and watched the TV without really watching it. House spent a few seconds watching him, but Wilson didn't seem to notice. House wondered how long he could keep it up before Wilson would say something or look at him, so instead of turning back to the TV House just started at his friend.

In all honestly, he really didn't look that great. His hair and clothes were rumpled. His face was flushed from the alcohol, but it didn't make him look healthy. Wilson was slouching, his shoulders slumped, and his expression was unhappy.

After five minutes of Wilson apparently oblivious of his friend's gaze, House lost his patience, decided Wilson wasn't going to notice, and cleared his throat.

Wilson looked despondently up at him.

"Uh..." House said, looking away. He shrugged. "So what happened, anyway? Sam texted me, but she didn't give any details."

Wilson scoffed. "You still talk to Sam? I thought that was just the one time we double-dated."

"I haven't talked to her _since _the double-date," House corrected. "She texted me. I didn't text back. It wasn't a let's-gossip-about-James thing, she was just informing me. I don't know why." The truth was that Sam had texted him, 'Congratulations, he's all yours,' but House decided to leave that part out. He shifted slightly closer to Wilson on the sofa. "So..." he said, looking at Wilson and giving a 'go on,' gesture.

Looking at his lap, Wilson sighed. "I cheated," he muttered.

House didn't mean to laugh, he really didn't, and he stopped at the glare he received from his best friend, but he couldn't help it. "Already?" House choked, trying to hide his smirk and reaching for his drink. "Usually you marry them and wait a year until you fix them and the marriage gets boring. Well, I guess since you were already married, you could skip most of that–"

"–It wasn't like that," Wilson muttered without looking at House. He took another sip of his scotch.

"You know, you could have picked another night," House said, sighing. "Cuddy's pissed off 'cause we had this date planned and I had to break it for you. If you'd told me you were gonna tell Sam about your affair, I could have warned you to hold off until tomor–"

"–It wasn't an _affair_," Wilson spat. "And I didn't tell her about it. She found out."

"Really?" House said, genuinely surprised. Wilson always told his wives when he cheated on them. "Jeez, how'd you fuck that up?"

Wilson still wasn't looking at him. House wondered what it was about his knees that he found so fascinating. He gave them a glance but saw nothing out of the ordinary. "I started to call her," Wilson muttered, fiddling with his drink so the scotch swilled around in the glass. "He took the phone out of my hand but he forgot to press 'end,' so she heard us."

"Who, Wilson?" House asked. He considered himself a pretty intelligent guy, but he was a little bit lost in Wilson's description.

Wilson shook his head. "We didn't even have sex," he whispered. "She answered the phone, and we were kissing, and she heard us kissing, and we went into the bedroom but we didn't even have sex. I..."

House noticed Wilson's hands were shaking and shifted closer to him, slightly concerned.

"...I was...having...problems. I tried but it wouldn't stay up. Even though I'd only had one drink. So I went home but Sam was gone..." For the first time since the start of their conversation, Wilson looked up at House and locked eyes with him. "She heard us, House. She heard us kissing, she heard him talking to me..."

House still wasn't completely following. All right, so Wilson had accidentally called Sam while at his mistresses's place, causing her to overhear Wilson making out with her, but who was the 'him' Wilson kept referring to? House's brain was telling him something, but he chose to ignore it. No, that wasn't what it was. He was just confused because Wilson was telling the story in fragments. Absolutely not. "Who?" House repeated, looking at him. "Who did she hear talking to you, Wilson?"

Wilson stared into the depths of his scotch glass. Then, so quietly House almost didn't hear, the younger man whispered, "Victor."

House rolled his eyes. Helpful. "Who's Victor, Wilson?" No, it wasn't what House was thinking. Wilson would tell him who Victor was—maybe the woman he was cheating with was married and Victor was the husband or something.

"He's..." Wilson whispered, "...this...guy. I was...at a bar...and...he was there...and...he was talking to me...and I...I changed my mind." He looked up at House, eyes pleading. "I changed my mind, House. I don't even know what I was doing there in the first place, really! I was just gonna leave, I was just gonna go home and see Sam, but then...he was talking to me...and he convinced me...and then when we were there I was going to leave again, because I didn't know what I was thinking so I called Sam and I was going to leave and go home! But we didn't even have sex! We didn't! It wasn't working and we never had sex and I went home but it was too late because Sam had already heard us!" And Wilson broke down. He downed the rest of his scotch in one gulp and put his face in his hands, crying.

House stared at him, unmoving.

Well, his guess had been right. But really? _Wilson?_

So maybe there had been more to Sam's text than he'd originally thought. Maybe she'd actually meant it...like that...

When he'd threatened Wilson's girlfriend at the dinner he'd planned all those months ago, House really hadn't intended for her to pick up on the fact that he was in love with her boyfriend. Really, his words could have been taken platonically. Everyone else House knew simply assumed that the diagnostician's jealousy of all Wilson's romantic relationships was platonic. Until that night, the only person who'd been even remotely aware of House's feelings was House. But, in his desperation to have Sam gone, he kind of went a little overboard with the threats and suspected she figured out what was really behind them.

Yes, House would like nothing more than for Wilson to discover he was actually gay, or that he swung both ways, and then fall for his best friend—but this little episode didn't mean that was going to happen! Of course it didn't. Wilson was clearly very distressed about the whole thing; the last thing he needed was for House to try and pressure him into a relationship.

House glanced at Wilson. He wished he would stop crying; House had absolutely no idea how to comfort him and the whole situation made him extremely uncomfortable. He cleared his throat, unsure of what else to do, and Wilson sniffed, wiped his eyes, and looked at him. "What?"

Okay, good, he'd recovered a bit. House felt relieved. He looked away quickly. "All right," he muttered. "So...okay, let me get this straight–" he inwardly cringed at his choice of words "–you went to a bar where some guy picked you up, you went home with him and made out with him, which Sam ended up overhearing."

Wilson nodded sadly.

House slowly let out a breath of air. He shook his head. "So...what? Are you gay? Or...what?"

"I'm not gay," Wilson whispered. "I swear, House, I'm not."

"So what the hell were you doing in a gay bar?" House demanded. "Why would you go home with a guy?" As much as House loved puzzles, this one left him completely stumped, and that frustrated him to no end. House was supposed to be Wilson's best friend, he was supposed to be able to read him like no one else could. Yet all this was coming as a complete shock to him. As much as he and Wilson joked about the homoeroticism of their relationship and as much as House wished Wilson were gay and in love with him, he never actually thought it was true. The few times the thought had crossed his mind he'd completely dismissed it. He told himself it was just wishful thinking...that glance didn't really mean what he thought it did, it couldn't. But maybe House had it backwards. Maybe because he was so intent on not getting his hopes up only to have them crushed by misreading signs, he was actually missing the signs altogether.

Not answering House, Wilson reached for the bottle of scotch on the coffee table to refill his glass, accidentally spilling some on the floor when he poured it. More dribbled down the side of the bottle when he replaced it clumsily on the table. House watched him take a sip and was about to repeat his question when Wilson opened his mouth to answer.

"I don't know," Wilson admitted in a whisper. "I don't know why I was there. Really. Half the time I was freaking the fuck out, and the other half...I was telling myself...that I needed to do it."

"Do what?" House probed.

Wilson shrugged. "Fuck a guy."

"Well that explains everything," House retorted, leaning back in his seat and rubbing his leg absently. "Thanks for clearing that up, Wilson, I get it now."

"You know, _I _don't get it either," Wilson pointed out, glaring at House for all the world as though it was the diagnostician's fault Wilson went to a gay bar and then home with a strange guy. "I don't know, all right. Sometimes...I get...urges..." he winced slightly, "...I thought...maybe...trying it...I thought it might clear things up. I thought it would help me figure stuff out," he finished quickly, looking at House nervously.

House took a sip of his scotch. "So..." House muttered without looking at him. "Did it...help you figure stuff out?"

In his peripheral vision, he saw Wilson nod. "I'm straight," he said. "I know I am...I didn't have sex with him. It...it wasn't working. The only time I've ever had that problem with a woman was when I've been pissing myself drunk, and I wasn't last night. So..." he shrugged. "Straight."

House nodded as well, and Wilson turned to him and they looked at each other. And in spite of what Wilson had just said, House could have sworn that when they made eye contact, when they looked at each other that way, _something _passed between them. He didn't know what it was, he couldn't explain it, but it was one of those looks...like the night Wilson had given him the organ, the time Wilson donated his liver and looked up at him from the operating table, the day House had read Wilson's speech at a medical conference. He'd felt it those times, and he felt it—felt it more than saw it—now.

House looked down. It couldn't be real. Or it was one-sided. He was imagining it. He had to be. Didn't Wilson just say he was straight? Straight guys don't fall in love with their male best friends.

He took another sip of scotch.

.

Last time House had stolen flowers and stuffed animals from patients to charm his girlfriend it had worked perfectly, so House decided to try it again.

She had spent the day at work avoiding him, clearly still upset about him having to cancel their date, so he showed up at her door after work to present her with his carefully collected gifts.

When she saw him at the door with the flowers and the little stuffed puppy, she sighed, took them, and let him in. "This doesn't mean I forgive you," Cuddy muttered, handing the puppy to Rachel and going into the kitchen to find a vase.

"I know," House said, following her. "I'll make it up to you in the bedroom later."

Fortunately, that earned a smile rather than a scoff, so House decided he was off the hook.

Cuddy sighed, putting the vase in the sink and turning on the water. "Maybe I did overreact a little. I mean, we had that dinner planned for a long time, but I guess if my brother-in-law left my sister then I'd want to go be with her."

House smiled and kissed the top of Cuddy's head as a thank you for understanding.

"So how is he?" she asked, turning to face House. "Is he gonna be okay?"

"I think so," House said. "He'll find someone to replace her soon enough, he always does."

"Did he say why she was leaving him?"

"It was..." House shrugged, "...a misunderstanding."

She didn't need to know the details. It wasn't her business. Besides, if it really was just a one-time thing and Wilson was straight anyway, like he claimed he was, there was no reason for more people than necessary to know about what happened.

"Well that's too bad," Cuddy said sympathetically. She crossed the kitchen to grab the flowers off the counter but was interrupted by a cry from the next room. Cuddy sighed. "Mommy's coming, honey," she called to Rachel, exiting the kitchen and going toward the living room to find her daughter.

A moment later, the phone rang. "House, can you get that?" Cuddy called from the next room. "I'm changing Rachel. And I'm keeping my fingers crossed that I won't find any spare change this time."

Rolling his eyes, House grabbed the phone. "Lady Lisa's Adult Accessory Warehouse and Emporium, how may I direct your call?"

"Excuse me?" a confused male voice responded. "I'm calling for a Dr. Lisa Cuddy, is this the right–"

"–One moment please," House responded, slinking into the toddler's bedroom. He held out the phone to Cuddy. "It's for you."

Scowling at him because she was still in the middle of changing a diaper and didn't really have a free hand, Cuddy quickly put down the diaper and nestled the phone between her ear and shoulder before returning to her task. "Hello?...Yes, this is she...Oh, what can I do for you?...What? Really?" Cuddy's facial expression suddenly became a gleaming smile. "Oh, that's great!...Yes, thank you so much...And you have a lovely night as well, thank you." Cuddy put down the phone and simply beamed at House, throwing her arms around him in a sudden hug that caught him off-guard.

"What?" House asked, looking down at her. "Was one of the clinic patients secretly a rich guy who's decided to donate his net worth to the hospital? What is it?"

Stepping back from the hug, Cuddy wiped a couple of happy tears from her eyes. "It was the committee of the New England Medical Excellence Award. House...PPTH won the award for 2010 in the Best Teaching Hospital category! I got an email a few months ago saying we'd been nominated but I had no idea we'd actually win!" She laughed softly in her excitement. "The award's going to be presented in New York next month. Oh, House, I can't believe it!" She hugged him again, and this time he hugged back. He wasn't nearly as excited as she was—except for the fact that_ her_ excitement would probably cause her to want to have sex with him several times in a row. Sure, it was cool that the hospital was winning an award, it would boost their reputation, but since when did House care about getting a good reputation? The only way it would really affect him, except for the effects Cuddy's good mood would have on him, would be if the hospital got more donations as a result of this award (which it probably would, to be fair), giving the hospital enough extra money to give his department more funding or give him a pay raise. Neither of which really mattered to House that much. He got paid plenty to maintain his modest lifestyle and occasionally splurge on expensive toys as it was (especially with the help of Wilson's credit card), and he was 'running' the department just fine with the money already allotted to him.

But that didn't mean he wasn't going to take advantage of the opportunities this award would give him. He reached a hand down and grabbed Cuddy's ass.


	4. Chapter 4

**House**

Cuddy sent an email out the next day with the good news, but by then House had already all but forgotten about it. He still thought about the conversation he'd had with Wilson two nights ago, but neither of them brought up the topic again. No, for the entire month between the time Cuddy had found out about the hospital's award and the night of the ceremony, the award was all pretty much anyone could talk about.

And Wilson...maybe he wasn't quite as cheerful as usual, particularly at first, but overall things went back to normal. House flirted with him the same ways he always did, and Wilson responded...the same ways he always did. He wondered if the younger man really had no inkling that all the lewd and flirtatious remarks House made to him really weren't him just being sarcastic and joking. Or was he so used to it after all these years that it didn't even occur to him that it was anything beyond their normal, platonic interaction? Some male best friends hugged without any implied homoeroticism; maybe Wilson thought that he and House flirted without any implied homoeroticism. If so, he was an idiot.

.

The weekend of the hospital's award dinner finally arrived, and Cuddy, House, Wilson, and most of the hospital's other department heads went up to New York. PPTH had reserved a bunch of rooms at a fancy hotel, and House convinced Cuddy to get the two of them a nice suite with a Jacuzzi tub so they could "properly celebrate the high honour."

House looked Cuddy up and down and gave a low whistle, at which she chuckled. "Forget the dinner," House said, walking over to her and putting his arms around her, squeezing her ass with one of them. "Let's just stay here."

"House, knock it off," Cuddy replied, but she was grinning. He knew she loved the attention. That was probably why she'd never sued him for sexual harassment over the years, because if she had tried she'd definitely have a case. "So you like it then?" she asked, turning around in her red satin dress so he could see the back as well as the front.

"Hate it," House contradicted. "You should take it off right now."

She just laughed. "No. If I wait 'til later, you'll appreciate it that much more."

"You know how to get me to appreciate it twice as much?" House asked. "Now and later."

Cuddy shook her head. "We need to get down to the dinner. Now please, get your tie on, and then we can grab Wilson and my family and head down."

"It's just gonna come off later," House pouted, staring at his tie with disgust.

"But in the mean time it makes you look handsome," Cuddy pointed out. She picked House's tie up off the hotel bed and looped it around his collar for him.

Still pouting, he put it on the rest of the way, and Cuddy pecked him on the cheek before taking his hand, grabbing her clutch off the table, and leading him to the hotel room door.

Their first stop was Wilson's room, which was on the floor below theirs. Cuddy removed House's hand from her ass and knocked on the door.

"Just a second," they heard Wilson call from inside, and a moment later he opened the door wearing only a white hotel towel around his waist.

House's eyes widened in part amusement, part appreciation. "Good choice of outfit, Wilson. Glad you're ditching the ties for once."

"You're going down already?" Wilson asked, ignoring his best friend and looking at Cuddy. He looked at his wrist automatically but wasn't wearing his watch. "What time is it? I thought the dinner didn't start 'til seven."

"They wanted me down there a few minutes early," Cuddy explained, grabbing House's hand and squeezing it so it would stop roaming to her backside.

"Crap," Wilson muttered. "Well, is it all right if I meet you there? It'll be awhile before I'm ready; I wouldn't want to keep you waiting."

"Or you could just come like that," House suggested. "I don't think too many people would mind."

Both of the younger doctors ignored him.

"All right, we'll see you down there, James," Cuddy said, smiling at him. He smiled back before closing the door, and House and Cuddy went down to Cuddy's sister's and parents' rooms to collect them and Rachel, who'd been playing with her cousins.

The group went downstairs to drive down to the venue where the dinner was being held. It was also a hotel, and Cuddy had originally wanted book rooms there, but there hadn't been enough vacant for all the employees who'd wanted to attend. The drive over was short, though, and they soon came to a grand lobby and followed the crowds of black-tie doctors and professionals to an enormous, extravagant ballroom.

The gigantic venue was littered with hundreds of circular white-tableclothed tables surrounded by thousands of fancy, stiff chairs. Each table had centrepieces overflowing with faux flowers and place settings with four different forks. It reminded House of one of Wilson's weddings.

There weren't too many people here yet. After Cuddy got Rachel settled (her high chair could not have looked more out-of-place) and made sure her sister was keeping an eye on her, she took House to the front of the room to meet the Award committee.

House hung back while she shook hands with and beamed at the different people, talking about boring hospital administrative stuff. He wished Wilson were there—he hated these kinds of things and they were ten times worse without his friend to talk to. It was only six-thirty, he wouldn't even get fed for at least another forty-five minutes. At least for the ceremony part of the evening he would be contently full and he wouldn't have to pay any attention. He could play disease-hangman with Wilson on the programmes and make up life stories about the people at the adjacent tables.

For right now, however, he was bored out of his mind. When Cuddy introduced him to people he grudgingly shook their hands and tried to at least appear pleasant, for her sake (and because he might not get sex if he upset her too much) but he really didn't have much to add to the conversations. He kept glancing at the door as people dribbled in, looking for Wilson, but Cuddy pulled him aside and asked him to stop because it was making a bad impression.

After this happened he texted his friend to hurry the fuck up, but Wilson didn't text back.

Fortunately, when they finished speaking to the committee and Cuddy went to mingle with other hospital administrators, she let House slink off to wait at their table. He texted Wilson again (where the fuck was he, anyway?) and pulled his PSP out of his pocket to play with until dinner started. One of Cuddy's nephews noticed him playing and asked for a turn, so House decided to be nice and share his toy. They got into discussing strategy and some of the other games in the series, so that made the time go faster and it wasn't long before most everyone had arrived and people went to their seats to hear the committee president's pre-dinner speech.

House hastily stored his game back in his pocket when he saw Cuddy coming—she didn't know he'd brought it and he wanted to keep it that way—and pecked her on the cheek when she sat down next to him.

"Hey," she greeted, smiling and looking around the table at her family. Then she frowned. "Where's Wilson?"

"I don't know," House responded, sounding annoyed. "I texted him eight times and called him twice, but he isn't responding. I even told him he could come in his towel if he couldn't find his suit pants or something."

"I hope nothing's happened," she said, sounding worried. "He seemed fine when we left."

"It's probably just taking him a long time to get his hair perfect," House muttered, but truth be told he was worried as well. It wasn't like Wilson to be late for something as important as this (unless House was the one causing his lateness). Had the oncologist gotten into an accident on the short drive between the hotels? The only other explanation for his absence was an emergency forcing him to return to Princeton—and if this was the case he most certainly would have called to tell House and Cuddy where he was going.

"I hope everything's okay," Cuddy replied, but then she put a finger to her lips and turned toward the front to listen to the speech.

Wilson did not turn up throughout the course of the dinner. House had texted him twelve more times and even stepped outside the ballroom during dessert to call him again, but he would just as well have tried calling the condo for all the response he got. House didn't know whether he was more irritated or scared. Surely if he had been an accident and was now in the hospital one of his doctors would have answered his phone?

House glanced around the room at all the chattering people, all in a good mood and happy to be there. If this had been anything other than a big important event for his girlfriend, he would be back at the hotel, banging on Wilson's door and asking the front desk and any and all witnesses where he was. He'd be calling up area hospitals for anyone with Wilson's description and he himself would be outside scouring the streets between the two hotels looking for his friend.

None of those was an option at the moment, though; they would have to wait until this stupid dinner was over. Fortunately, though, the meal part was just about finished, and as the last dessert plates were being cleared away the committee members were preparing to make more speeches before handing the awards out.

House, while waiting for the night to finish, made an origami dragon out of his programme, but he was much more uneasy than bored. He alternated checking his watch and checking his phone, but neither gave him anything comforting.

After the speeches had finished, it was time for the winning doctors and the doctors representing winning hospitals to make their way to the front, where they would be presented with their awards.

Cuddy gave House an emotion-filled hug before she went up, but he wasn't really interested.

"After you're finished, can we leave?" he whispered in her ear as she was about to go, but she gave him a stern look.

"House, this is the biggest night of my career, we're not just gonna leave early."

"It's not just 'cause I'm bored," House said, entirely truthfully. "Wilson's missing, I want to make sure he hasn't wrapped his car around a traffic light or been kidnapped by a sexual predator."

"House, I'm sure he's fine," she said, and even though she didn't roll her eyes House could tell she wanted to. "He can wait until after the event." She turned away from him and headed toward the front of the ballroom, the hem of her dress swishing.

With a programme he'd "borrowed" from Cuddy's sister since his was now a dragon, House made up entertaining anagrams out of the names while the first person received his (or her? House wasn't paying enough attention to notice) award and made their speech.

The committee president was about to announce the name of the second winner when House's phone rang.

The ballroom was big enough and House and Cuddy's table was close enough to the back that only a few people from the surrounding tables noticed, not that House cared. It was Wilson's ringtone—House's heart rate doubled as he grabbed the phone from the pocket and heaved himself up from the table toward the doors. It would either be Wilson—hopefully with an explanation!—or it would be someone who had found Wilson's phone, meaning only bad news.

"Where the hell are you?" House snapped, flipping open the phone before he'd even made it to the ballroom doors.

"House?"

He couldn't even describe the relief he felt upon hearing his Wilson's voice. It sounded slurred, but at least the man hadn't been run over by a subway train or something.

"Yeah, it's me, Wilson. So what the fuck's going on? Where are you?" He'd made it out of the ballroom and paced around in the cool, abandoned hallway outside.

"I..." Wilson slurred. "House, I'needjou...gotta..."

"Where are you, Wilson?" House asked again, trying to be patient but failing.

"Uh...'m outside. Kicked me out. He kicked me out, House. Wouldn'...wouldn' even lemme callou firs'..."

"You're drunk, aren't you?" House asked, rubbing his temples. At first he'd thought the slurring might be because he'd been in an accident and was hurt...but it didn't seem that way. Why Wilson had ditched this dinner to go drinking...?

"On'y a li'l," Wilson replied very defensively. "Gon' come gemme or not? I...I don' got m'car...took 'way my keys...c'you come pick me up, House?"

"Fine," House sighed. The irony of the role reversal was not lost on him. "All right, Wilson, what's the name of the bar?"

"No'...no' at a bar, House. Lef' the bar...like...a hour ago. Lef' the bar."

"So where are you?" House repeated, losing his patience. "What's the name of the street you're on?"

"Streets...streets don't have names, House. They're jus'...jus' numbers."

"So tell me the fucking numbers, Wilson!" House shouted into the phone as he made his way toward the hotel exit.

"Jeez, House, don't gotta yell 't me. Kay, uh...39...and...two. So are you coming?"

"Yes," House sighed, getting one of the cabs lining the street in front of the hotel. "Stay where you are, Wilson."

.

"There he is. Pull over here," House said to the cab driver when he spotted his intoxicated friend stumbling along the sidewalk like a movie cliché.

"Wilson!" House shouted, opening the door to the cab and getting partway out. "Get your ass over here!"

"House!" Wilson shouted in response, looking overcome with joy at the sight of his best friend. "There you are! Hey, what took you so long?"

House rolled his eyes. "Just get in the car, Wilson."

"Kay," Wilson agreed happily, traipsing around to the other side and getting in next to House, whom he beamed at.

House closed his door and told the driver to take them to their hotel, and then he turned and glared at Wilson. "What the fuck were you thinking? Why didn't you come to the dinner? Don't you have any idea how–" House cut himself off. His first thought was to finish the sentence with 'worried I was?' but he didn't say things like that. "...pissed off Cuddy's gonna be at me for missing this?" he finished instead.

"I know, I know," Wilson sighed, sounding like a child being nagged to brush his teeth. "But I had to do it, House. Had to do it, House. Was driving me crazy. Was gonna go, gonna be good...got distracted..." He shook his head.

"What the hell was more important than going to this stupid dinner?" House demanded. "And important enough for you not to answer your phone?"

"I couldn't even_ hear_ my phone, House," Wilson explained. "Too damn loud in there...and I...I had to." Suddenly looking depressed, Wilson put his face in his hands.

House worried for a moment that he was going to cry, but he didn't.

"'M sick of it, House," he muttered. "Sick of being me. Sick of wanting things'm not s'posed to want..." He looked up for a second to stare at House before sighing and looking at the floor again.

House sighed too. "You went to a gay bar again, didn't you?"

"Well it didn't _work_ the last time," Wilson defended. "How'm I s'posed to know if it doesn't even work?"

"I thought you decided that it didn't _work_ because you're not attracted to guys, Wilson," House pointed out, the thought frustrating him. He glanced up at the cab driver, who was probably listening to every word of their conversation, but he didn't really care and Wilson was completely oblivious to him.

Wilson shook his head. "'S'not it," he muttered. "I could...pretend that was why, but 't's not true, House. I liked it and I know I liked it and I like you and I know I like you but I don't know what it means, I don't know what it means and I don't know what I'm supposed to do..." He trailed off and stared despondently at the floor of the cab.

"Wilson," House said slowly, and his friend turned to look at him. The older man lowered his voice. "Did you go home with a guy tonight? Did you have sex with a guy?"

His friend shook his head sadly. "Didn't work again. Never works when I'm drunk, but I wanted to try...couldn't do it sober...too nervous. That's why it didn't work last time. Too scared. Had to drink, had to...he kicked me out, House." Wilson shook his head. "He wasn't nice like Victor. He just wanted to fuck and when I couldn't...he made me leave."

House sighed. Well at least now he didn't need to worry about Wilson getting an STD. What a fucking mess. He hadn't missed Wilson's comment about "liking" him, but he didn't even know what that meant. And Wilson wasn't in any state to tell him. Was the man gay or Thirteen-esque or not? How difficult was it to figure it out? House had known he'd swung both ways since puberty, when he'd noticed how he appreciated both the male anatomy and the female anatomy. True, he leaned more toward women and had never actually pursued a romantic relationship with a man, but the attraction had always been there. How could Wilson be attracted to men for over thirty years and not notice? And if he really wasn't attracted to men, if he really was straight, then why the hell was he having..."urges," as he'd described them, to go out and have sex with men?

They didn't say anything else for the duration of the ride to the hotel. House paid the driver and guided Wilson toward the hotel entrance, though the younger man couldn't really lean on him because of his bad leg.

"Come on, Wilson," House sighed. "Walk."

"Oh..." Wilson moaned, stopping in his tracks. Then he bent over and threw up all over the curb.

House rolled his eyes. "All right, you better now?" he asked once Wilson finished.

Wilson nodded and wiped his mouth on the sleeve of his jacket—House couldn't help but smirk, imagining the look of horror the younger man would have on his face the next morning when he realised he'd gotten vomit on his most expensive jacket—and then turned back toward the building and, walking on his own but still unsteadily, followed House in.

They went up to Wilson's room, and the younger doctor went into the bathroom to pee and to rinse out his mouth while House waited.

"Can I leave you here?" he asked once Wilson emerged.

"What?" he responded, looking at House in panic. "No! Don't go, you can't!"

"Wilson, what is with you?" House asked, exasperated. "I've got to get back to Cuddy's dinner."

"No," Wilson objected, stumbling across the room over to House. His brown eyes begged. "Don't leave me here all by myself. I'm drunk and fucked up, I shouldn't be alone right now."

"Wilson, it's not my fault you decided to go out to a gay bar, go home with a strange man, and in the mean time get yourself so inebriated you could hardly walk. I've got a girlfriend to return to. All right, now I know how you felt all those years. Lesson learned."

"But it is your fault!" Wilson argued, actually grabbing onto House's sleeve to keep him from leaving, though he hadn't started walking away yet. "It's all your fault! If it weren't for you I wouldn't be in this mess!"

"Wilson, what the hell are you talking about?" House asked, completely perplexed. "What the fuck did I do?"

"Nothing," Wilson said, shaking his head and waving his arms around haphazardly. "No, it's just ever since lately I can't stop thinking about you and sometimes I wanna fuck you and I don't know what that means so I thought, okay, well I don't like fucking guys so it can't be anything, but then it won't go away! House, it doesn't go away! So if I try fucking a guy and I don't like it why would I like it with you? So then it would go away and I could be with Sam and just be with Sam 'cause she's a girl and I like it with her so it's okay. But I _did_ like it with a guy even though we didn't get to the fucking part I liked the before stuff and I pretended no I didn't no I didn't but I know I did I know I did so tonight I will...try it again. And then maybe I can see maybe I just like the before stuff maybe not the actual fucking so then it will go away. But no...too much drinking so no actual fucking so–" Wilson cut himself off at that point and ran drunkenly back to the bathroom, where House heard him retching into the toilet again. He thought about leaving, now that Wilson couldn't stop him, but decided to wait until his friend came out again so Wilson wouldn't freak out wondering where he'd gone.

Wilson returned to the room, sighing and looking sadly up at House. He shrugged. "I d'know what I'm doing," he admitted. "Maybe it's different with guys that aren't you, maybe I was just too scared the first time and too drunk the second...I d'know." He stepped over to House, almost close enough to make him want to back away, but the older man stayed put. "All I know..." Wilson continued. "...It's not gonna go away." He sniffed and shook his head at House, tears welling up in his eyes. "It's not. I...I'm in love with you."

And before House could react, Wilson had wrapped his arms around him and kissed him.

It was sloppy and wet and tasted like vomit and House pushed away after just a second. "Wilson..." he said, shaking his head, shoulders slumped.

This was all he'd ever wanted. God, this was all he'd ever wanted.

But not like this.

Not drunk, not desperate, not confused and with no idea what he wanted. This couldn't happen now. Sure, Wilson was in love with him tonight, but he'd probably be completely heterosexual again by tomorrow morning.

No.

"Wilson..." House said slowly, looking into his best friend and the love of his life's leaking brown eyes. He put his hands on Wilson's shoulders and gently pressed him down so that he sat on the edge of the hotel bed. "I've gotta go, Wilson," House explained, keeping his expression as sombre as possible so Wilson would take him seriously. "I need to get back to Cuddy. I'll be back to check on you in a couple hours," he promised. "Don't go anywhere." He grabbed Wilson's keycard from the dresser and held it up for his friend to see. "See this? You can't get back in your room without it. So if you leave, you're fucked, Wilson." He pocketed the card and, with a departing look, left the room.


	5. Chapter 5

**House**

House's heart sank when he got inside the hotel only to see masses of people in black tie attire heading to the lobby from the direction of the ballroom. It was over already? He hadn't even made it for the end?

He pushed past the crowd, going against the flow of traffic, and made it inside to see if Cuddy was still there. He spotted her at their table, alone except for Rachel, who she was removing from her high chair. House approached them slowly, feeling his heart thumping in his chest.

Rachel pointed at him and must have said something, though he couldn't hear it from the other side of the room over the chatter, because Cuddy looked up and caught his eye from across the way.

She looked away again immediately, hoisting Rachel up higher on her hip and grabbing her clutch from the table. She walked toward the exit, determined not to look at her boyfriend, though he kept his eyes locked on her.

Cuddy tried to just walk past House, but he stopped her.

"Lisa," he said, trying to make eye contact with her. "I had to leave. Wilson called–"

"–Is he hurt?" she asked, not sounding the least bit concerned, but rather as though she were just seeking information.

House sighed. "No, he–"

"–Then I don't want to hear about it," she replied, cutting him off and once again trying to pass him to get to the exit.

"Lisa, he was drunk," House said, stepping in front of her and putting a hand on his arm to stop her. "He's really fu–messed up. Listen, I didn't exactly tell you the truth about why he and Sam broke up."

"House, I really don't care," she interrupted, shaking her head. "It's his own problem he got himself drunk, you didn't need to leave in the middle of my–"

"–He thinks he might be gay," House explained, looking her in the eye. His pronouncement had the intended effect of stopping her in her tracks. "He's confused," House explained. "Sam found out he went home with a guy, and that's why she broke up with him. And tonight, I don't know why, but he went out to a gay bar again, got completely plastered, and went home with some strange guy. But the guy kicked him out of the apartment, leaving him stranded on the streets, and he needed me to come get him."

Recovering from the shock of hearing that one of her apparently straight friends was suddenly unsure of his sexuality, Cuddy shook her head. "He...he could have called a cab. House...I don't want to deal with this right now. I just don't. Maybe if Wilson had been in an accident or something and you received a call from a hospital I might let it go, but this...this is just an excuse. Please get out of my way. I'm tired, Rachel's tired, and I just want to get back to the hotel and sleep."

"It's not an excuse, it's the truth!" House argued. "What was I supposed to do—leave him all alone on the streets?"

"Yes!" Cuddy said, glaring at him, tears streaming down her face causing her makeup to run. Rachel looked between the adults and started crying, and Cuddy held her closer. Cuddy sniffed and dabbed at her eyes with the side of her hand. "This was supposed to be my night, House. It was supposed to be one of the happiest, most memorable nights of my life and you...the man who's supposed to be my boyfriend, my significant other, couldn't even trouble yourself to be here for it."

She pushed past him on her way out, still crying, and he didn't go after her.

.

House stuck Wilson's keycard in the slot and opened the door slowly. His best friend was passed out on the hotel bed in an undershirt and his dress pants. He was lying on his stomach, so House hurried over to make sure he hadn't thrown up again and aspirated on it. The younger man was breathing fine, though, so House turned him on his side and went into the bathroom. He pulled his tie loose and stared at his reflection.

Should he really have ignored Wilson's call? Stayed there and watched Cuddy win her award, waited another hour or two? He shook his head. He couldn't do that. Wilson was his best friend, the person he cared about most in the entire world. And he'd needed House. Wilson...maybe none of Wilson's wives had ever had a dinner this important, but Wilson had left his wives many nights in the past to go pick up House when he need him.

And that...probably...contributed to the divorces. House sighed. There wasn't a right choice. Either way would hurt someone he loved.

House undressed to his boxers and undershirt and got into the bed on the other side from Wilson, but under the comforter. He spent a second staring at his friend, who had not woken up. The younger man breathed heavily, and it was a rather soothing sound. House wondered how he would explain his actions come morning.

"You couldn't have done this sober, could you?" House asked. He slipped two of his fingers through a couple locks of Wilson's hair, and then trailed them down the back of his neck until they rested against the cotton of his undershirt. Then House sighed, turned over so faced away from Wilson, and closed his eyes.

.

It was still the middle of the night when he woke up. He wasn't sure exactly what it was that woke him—Wilson was fast asleep. He had moved, though.

When House went to bed his friend had been on top of the blankets facing away from House. Now he was under the blankets, and he was _snuggled up to House._ His arm rested across House's torso and his forehead was pressed against his neck. He had curled one of his legs around House's left leg.

For a second House was frozen in place, unable to move. What was Wilson doing? Or, rather, when he woke up in the morning straight again, how would he explain what he was doing?

It would certainly make it more difficult for him to try and act straight if he woke up snuggled against his male best friend, but if he wanted to he would find a way (I was drunk, I was half asleep and didn't even realise it was you, how do you know it was me that initiated it and not you?).

House wondered if he should push Wilson away. He probably should, but he really didn't want to. It felt so nice, Wilson's warm breath against his skin, his warm soft body pressed against House's. He couldn't help but fantasise about this becoming a recurring thing, lying in bed cuddled up together, having permission to touch each other, kissing...no!

No, it wasn't a possibility, it wasn't realistic. Wilson would wake up the next morning and want nothing romantic to do with House. And besides, even though they were in a fight right now House was still with Cuddy anyway. So nothing good could come out of snuggling with Wilson.

Careful not to wake him, House slowly slid free of his best friend's grip, inwardly mourning the loss of the warm body beside his. He got up and limped over to the hotel bathroom, talked himself down from the half-erection he had, called himself pathetic for having it from something as tame as snuggling in the first place, went to the bathroom and then got back into the bed. He lay as close to the edge as possible so hopefully Wilson wouldn't wake up and try to cuddle with him again. He glanced over at his friend, who thankfully hadn't woken up, and went back to sleep.

.

The next time he woke up it was because the shower was going. All right, so even if Wilson had crawled back over to him sometime during the night, he'd successfully avoided having a confrontation about it. House spread himself over a greater percentage of the bed and dozed until Wilson poked him awake.

House whined a complaint and pulled the covers over his head.

"House, get up," Wilson said, sounding exasperated. "Check out's in a half-hour, we need to get back to Princeton. And what are you doing in here anyway?"

He raised his head from the pillows and looked over at his friend. "Don't you remember what happened last night?" he asked. Did Wilson seriously think Cuddy would be okay with him ditching her dinner?

Wilson looked at him. "I remember...going out...drinking...asking you to pick me up..." he shrugged. "The rest is kind a blur, though."

House couldn't always tell when Wilson was lying. There were plenty of times, possibly more than House knew, when his friend could tell him a complete lie and he would fall for it. Most of the time, though, when Wilson lied to House, the older man saw right through it. This was one of those times. He knew, and he knew Wilson knew he knew, that the oncologist remembered everything that happened last night.

Including admitting his love to House and trying to kiss him.

But in spite of the fact that they both knew it had happened, House followed Wilson's lead in not bringing it up. Clearly he had been right about the fact that Wilson was going to be straight again today, so there really wasn't any point in bringing up a topic that would just make both men feel awkward and uncomfortable.

They were both pretty quiet on the way back to Princeton. After Wilson went back to the nightclub to pick up his car, they stopped at a drive-thru for breakfast and ate more than spoke. It wasn't their usual comfortable silence, though. It was...awkward.

"So..." Wilson started once they were on the highway, clearly hoping conversation would ease the tension, "...how was...the dinner last night?"

"Almost as fun as clinic duty," House muttered. "Dammit, what the hell were you doing, Wilson?" he asked, glaring at him. "You wouldn't even let us know where you were going, I had to suffer through it all by myself, and now Cuddy hates me because I missed her getting her stupid award and I think it'll take more than flowers and stuffed animals to get her to forgive me!"

"I know," Wilson murmured shamefully, staring at the road in front of him. "I...I'm sorry, House...I don't know what I was thinking, really. I just..." he shook his head. "I don't know."

House glared moodily out the window. He really wanted to be angry with Wilson, but it was hard to do so knowing how many times their roles had been reversed...and House had never even apologised for any of them, except the for the time Amber died.

"Is it going to happen again?" House muttered without looking at him.

Wilson shook his head. "Twice is enough. I'm done with it, House. Whatever...weird phase I'm going through I'll get over."

House had to fight hard not to scoff. "Off course you will," he said under his breath, and he couldn't tell if Wilson heard him or not.

Wilson dropped House off at his apartment, where he showered and changed before heading over to Cuddy's to get things straightened out between them.

.

He used the key she'd given him a couple weeks ago to let himself in. Rachel, in her playpen, looked up at him, and Cuddy appeared from the hallway. She was wearing only a T-shirt and sweats and looked rather worn out.

House gave her a small, sad smile. "Hey."

She sighed. "Hey," she replied. Then she turned away from him and walked over to her daughter, hoisting her out. "Rachel, go play in your room for a little while. Mommy and House need to talk."

"Kay," Rachel said, and both adults watched her toddle off down the hall.

Once she disappeared, House sighed. "Lisa, I'm sorry I had to miss your thing. You know that."

Still looking at the hallway rather than at House, Cuddy shook her head. "You'd do it again. Don't pretend you wouldn't."

"I had to," House explained, stepping closer to her. "Wilson needed me."

"_I _needed you," Cuddy said, looking at him. "Do you..." her voice broke and she looked away. "Do you have any idea what it felt like? Standing up there to celebrate the biggest accomplishment of my career, of my life, looking out at all the faces, seeing all my family, my friends...everyone but you, House. I took the fancy little plaque and I looked out, just wanting to see your face, share this moment with you...and you were gone." She sniffed. "For a second, I thought maybe you'd just gone to the bathroom or something, gotten up at the wrong moment...but then I sat back down with my parents and my sister and no...you'd gotten a phone call and you'd just up and left."

"I was worried about Wilson," House defended, which was actually a big deal for him. He never admitted out loud to worrying about another person.

"Wilson can take care of himself," she said, shaking her head. "This...this was my night, House. It..." her voice broke again, and tears started to run down her cheeks. "It was supposed to be my night, our night, and you weren't even there to share it with me."

"Well next time you win an award I'll handcuff myself to Wilson so I can be there for it," House snipped. "I said I was sorry, Lisa, what more you do you want from me?"

Cuddy shook her head, not crying anymore. "Nothing," she whispered, her voice sounding dead. "Not anymore. I...I want you to leave, House. I no longer have any expectations of you."

House took a step closer, studying her. "Are you breaking up with me?" he asked, voice very low.

She looked at him. Tear tracks had stained her cheeks. "Yes," she whispered, nodding. "I..." Starting to cry again, she turned away from him.

"Lisa," he interrupted, closing the distance between them and putting a hand on her arm. "Don't. You love me."

"I know," she admitted, looking back at him. "And like I said the first night, I wish I didn't! But it's not enough. This was too big, House. You...told me you loved me, but you need to show that you care."

"I _do_ ca–"

"–Clearly not enough," she cut him off, stepping away. "Clearly not—tell me something," she said suddenly, looking at him with curiosity. "If it had been Wilson winning the award last night in oncology and I had called you up drunk, would you have left him?"

House rolled his eyes. "Come on, Lisa, you wouldn't go out and get drunk if he was–"

"–Before last night, would you have believed _Wilson_ would go out and get drunk when our hospital was winning an award?"

"Well if I did leave to come get you, at least he would forgive me for it," House pointed out angrily. "He wouldn't dump me over it. And it wasn't just him going out and getting drunk," he added. "It's like I told you last night—he's going through some stuff, he needs a friend."

"But _I'm_ your girlfriend," Cuddy argued, "or rather, I _was_ your girlfriend. The most important night of _my_ career is supposed to trump Wilson's little mid-life crisis!"

For a moment neither of them said anything. Cuddy looked away from House, her arms folded across her chest.

A soft padding sound interrupted their thoughts as Rachel returned to the living room. She looked from her mother to House. "You done talking?" she asked.

Cuddy nodded, crossed the room to pick up her daughter, and then looked pointedly at House. "Yes, sweetie, we're done talking. House was just abut to leave."

House was not just about to leave. He followed Cuddy back across the room. "You said you knew what you were signing up for," he argued, wishing she would look at him. "I warned you, I said I would do horrible things to you. You said you wanted to be with me anyway. I entered this relationship under the assumption that you weren't going to give up on us the second I fu–screwed up."

"And _I _entered this relationship under the assumption that you would at least make the effort not to mess up," Cuddy pointed out, putting Rachel back down and directing her back to her room. Once the toddler had disappeared again she turned back to House. "And if I had given up the first time you screwed up, House, we'd have broken up long before now. There's been plenty I've just let slide because I actually do care about you and I actually did want this to work." She shook her head. "You...going behind my back at the hospital, using a hooker as a masseuse, trying to get out of babysitting and then allowing my daughter to swallow a dime...all those things I put under the category of House being House and I've got to love him for who he is because that's the right thing to do." She looked at him for a second before closing her eyes and shaking her head again. "But this was just too big. I'm sorry, House, but if this is all our relationship is going to be—you not caring enough to go out of your way not to hurt me—then I don't want to be a part of it."

She turned away from him, walking down the hall into her daughter's room.

He didn't follow her. He watched her go, and then he turned around. He walked out the door and went home.


	6. Chapter 6

**Wilson**

Wilson spent the day hiding in his condo. He was more than a little mortified about what happened—what House must think of him! At least the older man hadn't brought it up that morning, which Wilson was grateful for. Hopefully House would attribute his...actions...to his drunkenness and that would be the end of that.

As for Wilson...he still didn't know what to think. Ever since his night with Victor a month ago, he'd been pretending that things hadn't actually progressed to sex because Wilson wasn't actually gay. But at the same time, he _knew_ it was just pretending because he'd enjoyed the kissing and making out and it had turned him on, and if he had stayed longer and tried again to have sex he probably would have enjoyed that as well. He knew this, but as long as he didn't say the words out loud he could go on pretending.

Last night, he had said the words out loud. And though he'd been drunk, he knew it was the truth.

But what about being in love with House? Was that the truth?

Of course it was.

The question wasn't whether or not he was in love with House, it was whether or not he could go on pretending he _wasn't_ in love with House. Just continue to tell himself it was a phase, it would pass. Become the master of doublethink.

.

The next day at work Wilson pretended everything was normal. No, House hadn't had to pick him up because he'd gone home with a strange man. No, he hadn't confessed feelings of love and tried to kiss his best friend. Nor had he crawled into bed with him and snuggled up against him. Of course not. Just another normal weekend.

But, despite the promise he'd made to his friend, Wilson couldn't help but wonder if he would get the urge to go out again, have two or three drinks instead of one or seven, and finally find out what it was like to have sex with a man. The thought that he might actually do such a thing terrified him.

So Wilson thought maybe...maybe if he was distracted, if he found another way to spend his weekend, maybe he wouldn't feel the need to try any more sexual experiments. His first thought, of course, was finding a potential fourth Mrs. Wilson to keep himself busy, but that might take awhile. In the mean time, if he could convince House to come over for a movie night or something then he would be forced to stay home.

House also knew how to play the pretending-everything-is-normal game—he and Wilson ate lunch together and talked about women and sex and monster trucks just like they always did. He strode into Wilson's office for no other purpose than to procrastinate from his clinic hours just like he always did. No changes. Ignoring the problem is avoiding the problem.

And when Wilson went into the doctors' lounge for a snack, he allowed House to talk him into a game of foosball even though they both had work to do.

"So..." Wilson said, allowing House to score a goal. "You...wanna come over and watch a movie on Saturday? Unless," he added quickly, shrugging. "You know, I mean, if you and Cuddy have plans, then–"

"–Cuddy and I broke up," House interrupted, and Wilson stared at him for a second, during which time House scored another goal.

"When did this happen?" Wilson demanded. "Why didn't you tell me?"

House shrugged. "Never came up."

"You could have brought it up," Wilson pointed out, giving up on the foosball game altogether. "Yesterday during lunch you acted just fine."

"I am fine," House muttered without looking at him.

Wilson rolled his eyes. "House, your girlfriend just dumped you. You're _not_ fine. You just don't want anyone to know you're upset because you see it as weakness. House, it's not healthy. You know you can talk about it."

"There's nothing to talk about," House said with a shrug. "It was inevitable. I knew going into it it wouldn't last. Does it suck? Yeah, kinda, now I'm gonna have to start paying for sex again. But am I gonna start crying or cut her name into my skin with a razor blade? No. Seriously, Wilson, I'm fine."

Wilson gave him a skeptical look. "I don't believe you," he deduced. "You've been in love with Cuddy forever; for years all you've wanted was this relationship. Now that it's over...I'm not buying that you're okay with it. With Stacy it was months before we could even have a conversation without you stopping and getting that haunted look in your eyes."

"It was different with Stacy," House pointed out. "I was in love with her. I was never in love Cuddy."

That gave Wilson pause. "Really?"

House put two fingers to his temple. "I give you my word as a gentleman," he said.

Wilson rolled his eyes. "Well, even if you weren't in love with Cuddy, you obviously liked her and liked being in a relationship with her. You were happy, remember? I wasn't in love with Sam and I was still all broken up after she dumped me."

"That's also different," House pointed out. "Unlike your relationship with Sam, my relationship with Cuddy wasn't because I needed to sleep with her to convince myself I'm not gay."

Wilson cringed. So much for not bringing it up. He didn't look at House. He couldn't look at House, though he could feel his friend's eyes on him. "I'm dealing with it," he muttered.

He would. He would deal with it. He would find another woman—maybe, if he was lucky, someone like Amber, someone whose personality he was actually attracted to (because it was House's personality in a female package, but he tried to ignore that) so he could actually fall in love with her and not get bored with her as soon as they got married. When he'd been with Amber, he'd loved her more than House, or at least thought he did. He'd been willing to risk House's life for her, hadn't he? Which, of course, he felt guilty about now because now that Amber was dead and gone and House was all he had left he couldn't imagine loving _anyone_, even her, more than he loved his best friend.

"You're _not_ dealing with it," House contradicted, interrupting Wilson's thoughts and taking a step closer to him. "Case in point, unless your BAC is over one-point-five you won't even admit you're in love with me."

"Is that what you want from me?" Wilson shouted, flushing red and glaring at House. Why did he have to do this? They had been doing fine just pretending Saturday night had never happened. Why did House need to bring this up, screw with everything? Why couldn't he just leave it be? "You want me to ruin our friendship by saying I have feelings for you?"

House looked at him for a second. "Yes," he said, nodding to emphasise his point.

Wilson scoffed. "Couldn't just let it go, could you?" Wilson could still feel the heat on his face. He didn't want to admit it—admitting his feelings would just make it that much harder to forget about them and just continue his life as a normal straight guy. But House wanted him to say it and if he tried to deny it...House would just see right through him. House already knew. House already knew. "Why do you need me to say it?" Wilson asked, looking curiously at his friend. "You obviously already know the answer, so there's no reason for me to say it."

"Well then there's no reason for you not to say it," House pointed out, a smirk tugging at his lips, which irritated Wilson. "Just do it, Wilson. Fuck with our friendship. Say it."

"Fine!" Wilson shouted, losing his temper and starting to pace around. "Fine, I'm in love with you! Are you happy now?"

House didn't say anything right away.

Wilson instantly regretted saying it. Maybe House hadn't meant for him to, maybe it was just supposed to be a game.

Well it was over now.

Everything was over now.

Their friendship could have survived if it had just remained unsaid. That way they could just go on pretending, like they were so good at...keep living in denial...it worked that way.

Wilson was facing away from House, but every couple seconds he glanced at him, wondering if his friend (ex friend? The thought saddened him deeply) was going to speak.

And finally he did. "Can I move back into the condo?" House asked.

Taken aback, Wilson stared at House, unsure if he'd heard correctly. "W...what?" he stammered, looking, confused, into his friend's impossibly blue eyes.

"Will you un-kick me out of the condo?" House repeated, taking a step closer to Wilson.

"Uh...if you want," Wilson responded, completely bewildered. Wilson had just confessed to House that he had romantic feelings for him—he should be running in the opposite direction, not asking to be roommates again. "Why?"

House shrugged. "Convenience. So if I ever get the urge to...I don't know...kiss you...or...have sex with you, the farthest you'll be is a couple rooms away and I won't have to make a ten minute drive over."

Wilson's face reddened again and he looked away. House was making fun of him! Why did he have to do that? Couldn't he see how difficult this was for Wilson, how much distress it was causing him? Or, if they weren't going to be friends anymore, did he no longer care?

"You don't have to mock me," Wilson muttered, heading for the door without looking at House. "I'm not gonna hit on you or anything. I'll leave you alone."

At this House actually laughed out loud. "You can be such an idiot, Wilson," he said.

Wilson felt his temper start to flare up. This was completely unnecessary. Part of him wanted to hit House, but he decided that would create more problems than it would solve—between the two of them, House would probably come off better in a fight unless Wilson played dirty and went for his bad leg, which he couldn't do no matter how upset he was with him. So instead he decided to just do the mature thing and walk away.

"Wait, Wilson, don't go," House said as he made to open the door.

Wilson turned and glared at him. "I don't need your ridicule," he snapped.

"I wasn't _ridiculing_ you," House said, starting to roll his eyes and then stopping halfway through. "Well, all right, I may have ridiculed the fact that you thought I was ridiculing you in the first place. But I wasn't..." House took a few steps until he was in front of Wilson, and put a hand on his arm even though Wilson hadn't moved to leave again. "...I wasn't ridiculing the fact that you were in love with me, Wilson." The gorgeous cerulean eyes stared into Wilson's in a way that made the younger man's heart beat twice as loud and three times as fast. "I couldn't do that..." The way House was looking at him—the fondness and the soft glow radiating from the irises—Wilson hadn't seen that look in his friend's eyes in eleven years, and back then it had never been directed at him, it was always at Stacy. And somehow Wilson knew what House was going to say next a second before he said it, and he thought he might be dreaming but if he was he hoped he'd never wake up. "...because I'm in love with you, too."

Wilson's heart felt like it would explode, and House's fingers were stroking his hair as he stared at him with a look of such love and desire Wilson wanted to memorise it, keep a picture of it in his mind in case he never saw it again because he knew it was all he ever wanted.

And then it was over. The door opened from behind them and House stepped away from Wilson, hands gone, the look gone, and turned to face his team who had come to give him an update on their patient's status.

Wilson hung back while the other four doctors in the room ignored him to argue about what to do now that the 'correct' diagnosis had proved incorrect—he was used to this by now, but he could still feel his heart's rapid beating in his chest, wondering what would happen next, wondering if it would happen again.

House agreed to go talk to their patient himself since his team clearly wasn't competent enough to get a straight answer out of her and Wilson's heart sank with disappointment. Over for now. But maybe...maybe later...maybe House would stop by after work...and not leave...maybe the most wonderful sixty seconds of Wilson's life hadn't been a fluke...

Foreman opened the lounge door and Chase and Taub followed him out. When House remained where he stood, his supposed second-in-command stuck his head back in. "You just said you were coming to talk to the patient," he said disdainfully.

"I'll be out in thirty seconds," House promised. "You can time me. Now close the door."

With an eye-roll, Foreman obliged and House stepped closer to Wilson again. A soft, gentle finger traced the side of his face and Wilson shivered involuntarily.

"So, what do you say?" House asked softly. "Can I move back in?"

Wilson nodded emphatically, causing House to smile.

"Awesome," the older man concluded, and then he leaned forward to brush his lips with Wilson's.

Fireworks exploded in Wilson's nervous system as he grabbed House's arm to push them closer together, kissing back desperately for what was decidedly longer than thirty seconds. House pulled back from the kiss and gave Wilson that look again, the one that caused Wilson's heart to melt. He kissed Wilson again, just briefly, and then squeezed his hand before backing away and opening the lounge door. "I haven't finished with you," he assured Wilson before he left. "And this way you'll get to spend the next–" he glanced at his watch "–six hours trembling with anticipation." Then he gave Wilson a quick but nevertheless genuine smile, stepped outside and closed the door after himself.

"Why are you smiling like that?" Taub's muffled voice came from the hallway.

"'Cause I have a new boyfriend," was House's nonchalant explanation.

Wilson grinned to himself and collapsed on the lounge sofa, feeling like a fourteen-year-old after a first date. Yes, all right, he was gay, or at least half-gay, but if that meant he got to be with House then he couldn't be happier about it. And he knew, beyond a shadow of a doubt, that he was gay for House. While kissing Victor had been new and weird while not unpleasant and kissing the man whose name he couldn't remember from the bar in New York had been rough and feral and semi-arousing but not enough for Wilson's alcohol-filled system, kissing House had felt...so right. It made him just want to do it again and again, feel House's lips against his, feel other parts of House's body against his...Wilson shivered on the couch with excitement. And if he had his way, tonight would be that chance. There would be no backing out. Because it wasn't just sex for experimentation, just sex for sex. Wilson was in love and he wanted to show it in the most intimate ways he could.


	7. Chapter 7

**Wilson**

House talked Wilson into going to the apartment with him to help him gather some of his things and move back into the condo. Or, in other words, House sat and barked orders while Wilson gathered up House's things to move back into the condo. Not that he minded in the least.

They stopped at a diner to eat on the drive between complexes because they were both pretty hungry by the time they finished packing and Wilson didn't feel like cooking or take-out.

After they got back to the condo, Wilson talked House into helping move his things by getting a dolly from their storage area so he wouldn't have to carry the boxes. While House schlepped his things from the car to the condo, Wilson moved the House's dresser into the master bedroom. House decided to "help" by putting his clothes away _while_ Wilson was still moving the thing.

"The one time you actually do put your clothes away instead of leaving them on the floor, you do it to find a way to make my life difficult," Wilson commented, wiping a bit of sweat from his brow.

"Do you really think I would be putting them away if it didn't make your life difficult?" House asked, and Wilson had to concede the point.

Eventually the dresser made it into the master bedroom, much heavier than it had been at the start, and Wilson sat down on the bed to take a breath. House closed the last drawer and turned to look at him, and in that instant the atmosphere in the room changed abruptly from relaxed and casual to alert and tense. Wilson suddenly became much more aware of his friend's presence: the sparkle in his eyes, the half-smile on his face, the way his clothes hung on his body. He felt his heart begin to beat faster as he stared at House and wondered if the older man was thinking the same things he was.

House limped over to the bed without taking his eyes from Wilson's and sat down next to him. Without saying anything he traced Wilson's face with his finger, from his brow down his cheek to his chin. Wilson closed his eyes at the gentle touch and leaned against House's hand when it cupped the side of his face. He heard House take a deep breath and the rustle of the bed as he scooted closer. House's leg pressed against Wilson's and he opened his eyes to see House's face inches from his.

He had on a look very similar to the one in the doctors' lounge this afternoon, except more serious. Desire. Not love, not lust, but desire fuelled by love. Wilson stared back into House's smouldering eyes for a moment before leaning forward to kiss him.

The stubble made it different from kissing a woman, but Wilson was surprised at how gentle the kiss was from House's end. House stroked his hair and the side of his face while his tongue probed all the surfaces of the inside of Wilson's mouth. Wilson teased House's tongue with his and rubbed his hand up the side of House's good leg softly, more as an expression of intimacy than foreplay.

They kissed like that for awhile, hands slowly exploring each other's hair and skin while their tongues explored each other's mouths. It made Wilson feel like a teenager again—making out for making out's sake, not only as something to do before sex. Of course, like when he was a teenager, he hoped it would lead to sex, and the idea of it leading to sex contributed to his 'excitement' almost as much as the act itself, but even if it didn't...this in itself was totally awesome.

It had been a very long time since he'd kissed someone like this. When he and Sam first started dating in college they would sometimes have marathon make out sessions before the actual sex, but once they married that had pretty much changed, and except for once-in-a-while with Amber, with all the rest of his wives and girlfriends the kissing-with-all-clothing-still-on part never lasted this long.

After awhile, though, Wilson could tell House was getting anxious to take things further, and he was just as willing to do so. The kisses became more needy and rough, lips pressing together and tongues pushing wildly to get into the other's mouth. House had pulled Wilson's tie loose and was working on his buttons and Wilson stroked House's inner thigh, getting closer to his groin each time without actually touching it.

But that wasn't due to nervousness this time. He could feel the heat coming from his best friend and whenever he opened his eyes he could see the bulge in House's pants, and the thought of touching it, seeing it exposed, feeling the hot hardened flesh press against his body just made his own erection get harder. Maybe if this had been the first time he'd made out with another guy, gotten hard and gotten him hard he'd be as jumpy as he'd been with Victor, but maybe not because this was House and he was in love with House, and he wanted House's body every bit as much as and maybe even more than he'd ever wanted a woman's body.

House pulled back for a second, staring at Wilson with lust-filled cobalt eyes, kissed him again for just a second, and then pulled both his button-down shirt and his T-shirt over his head and kicked off his shoes and socks. He swung his good leg around Wilson's lap, straddling him, and pushed his shirt the rest of the way off. As he leaned forward for another kiss Wilson shuddered at the feeling of House's hardness pressing against his. It made his skin tingle and he longed to feel more of it. He ran his hands across House's back and chest, feeling the muscles and the sweat-moistened skin. Then he moved his dominant left hand over House's shoulder and slowly down his chest. When it reached the fabric of House's jeans he did not stop. Instead he moved the hand down until he was cupping his best friend's hard-on, feeling it pulsing through the denim with House's heartbeat, and gave a couple gentle squeezes.

House "hmm"ed into Wilson's mouth, which made him giggle involuntarily and House pulled back again to look at him. "If you're going to laugh at the sounds I make in bed then I don't think this is going to work," he said, negating his pronouncement by half-smiling and running his fingers through Wilson's hair while he said it.

"Well," Wilson replied, giving House a rub while he was at it, "then you're just gonna have to get me to make some sounds of my own."

"Oh," House said, smiling playfully. Then, without warning, he rolled his hips to rub their crotches together, making Wilson gasp out in surprised pleasure. "You mean like that?"

"Oh," Wilson half-moaned, pressing himself against House so he could continue to feel the heat and pressure that just felt so good. "Yes."

House chuckled softly.

"Hypocrite," Wilson muttered, so House 'punished' him by thrusting suddenly against him again. Wilson wrapped his legs around House in an effort to keep the contact between them as long as he could. God, he never wanted to lose it.

"You know," House breathed into his ear before giving the lobe a tiny bite that didn't hurt so much as increase Wilson's arousal, "we could keep doing this. Or we could take our pants off and do it naked."

Wilson whimpered just at the suggestion. Yes, he liked that idea. He wanted nothing more than House's naked cock pressed against his, pressed against his body. The mere thought of it made him drip pre-come.

House took that as a yes and kissed his way down Wilson's neck while unbuttoning his pants. Wilson trembled and continued fondling his friend through the jeans. He could feel its shape through the material but he wanted more than that, he wanted to touch the skin, feel it against him, kiss it...and that idea should feel weird to him but it didn't because he imagined the look of ecstasy on House's face and that image turned him on so much...

As House was getting Wilson's pants off past his butt, Wilson grabbed his friend and rolled them over, careful not to hurt House's leg, so House was lying on the bed with Wilson over him. He looked up at Wilson in surprise at the suddenness, but Wilson was too busy getting his own pants the rest of the way off and then hurrying to take off House's. Seeing what he was doing, House helped by lifting his hips. He stared shamelessly at Wilson and ran a single fingernail up and down his side while the younger man got them both pants-less.

Wilson leaned over House to kiss him and their erections nudged quite by accident, but House groaned and Wilson moaned simultaneously at the contact. Not wanting to lose that, Wilson thrusted deliberately against his friend a few times, positively shaking at the sensations. He took his own cock and House's in his hands and rubbed them together and House actually cried out.

"Jeez, Wilson!" he said, and Wilson couldn't help but smile. But he wanted to see what else could do to make his friend lose control.

Leaning over him again, Wilson placed quick kisses along his jawline all the way back to his ear, where he whispered, "I'm gonna suck you off."

Even just the the words caused House to moan, which was good because Wilson had never given a blow-job before and wasn't really sure how good he'd be at it. Hopefully, though, if House was already decently aroused, which he definitely was, it wouldn't be too difficult to make him come undone. And maybe, with practice, over time he'd improve. And that thought made him smile.

Wilson kissed his way down House's chest, giving House's dick gentle squeezes with his hand to keep him occupied until his mouth got there.

He started by slowly licking, teasing, from the base up to the tip, which he then tickled with his tongue. Really, it wasn't any weirder than going down on a woman, and in this case there was so much more room to work, so much more to touch. He could hear House's heavy breathing and he heard his breath hitch when he lapped at the tip of his dick. Wilson glanced up and was pleased to see House had propped himself up on his elbows to watch. It made Wilson a little bit nervous, which was ridiculous because House would evaluate his fellatio skills based on what he felt, not what he saw, but mostly it was a good thing because this way he could look up and see House's face whenever he wanted.

Right now House's face was staring at him looking incredibly aroused, desperate to be touched, and it was one of the hottest things Wilson had ever seen. His eyes literally begged for more contact and Wilson was more than happy to oblige.

He lowered his mouth onto the head of House's dick (all right, maybe this was a little bit new, but the look on House's face was worth it) and spent a few seconds taking it in and out of his mouth to give House friction while getting used to it. He took in as much as he could without gagging and hummed against it to create vibrations. Then he got a surprise when House thrusted accidentally and dripped pre-come into his mouth, but he put a hand on House's hip to hold him steady and prevent it from happening again. Wilson alternated humming with sucking, stroked the base that he couldn't fit into his mouth (despite House's efforts), and took his mouth off every so often to lick at House. And either he was a natural or House was extra-appreciative because the moans and gasps coming from his mouth made Wilson have to fight not to go at himself with his spare hand.

"Wilson," House moaned, and the way he said it gave the younger man goosebumps and made him decide that he could get used to this. House's hand slid through his hair and stubby fingernails scratched gently at the base of his neck, biting into his skin every now and again when Wilson's mouth made House lose control of his movements. "Hmm, Wilson," he murmured, the hand drifting to his shoulder. "Wilson, stop," he muttered gently.

It took a second for Wilson to comprehend, but he lifted his head and looked curiously at his friend.

"I don't wanna do this," House muttered and Wilson felt his heart sink. What had he done wrong? Why was _House_ changing his mind?—he hadn't been the one struggling with his sexuality. Or maybe he had and Wilson just hadn't noticed because he hadn't bothered to ask. He felt overwhelmed by disappointment and hurt—the least House could have done was said he wanted to do this but wasn't entirely sure about it rather than lead him on completely.

Wilson started to back away, but for some reason House pulled Wilson toward him so the younger man rested on the elder. Looking into Wilson's eyes House whispered, "I want you in me."

Oh. **_OH! _**Wilson was so relieved he had to laugh.

"What?" House demanded, and Wilson could've sworn he saw something like nervousness or fear in his eyes, like he thought Wilson was laughing at the idea of sexual intercourse between them. As though Wilson would ever laugh at such a thing.

He answered House's question by first kissing him, with tongue but not deep enough to distract them for longer than a couple of seconds. Then, with a hand on the side of his new lover's face, he explained, "When you said you didn't want to–"

House, figuring out where Wilson was going with that, rolled his eyes. "You thought I meant...you idiot, Wilson," he said affectionately, shaking his head with disbelief. And he kissed him. "You actually thou–"

"–Sorry," Wilson grinned. He kissed House again.

"So?" House breathed when they pulled apart, fingers tangled in Wilson's hair. "Will you?"

"Oh," Wilson said, his voice almost a moan at the thought. "God, House, yes. God yes."

Nodding, House pushed Wilson off, rolling him onto his back, and dove for the jeans that lay abandoned somewhere amidst the tangled sheets and comforter. He extracted a small tube of lubricant and held it up triumphantly. Wilson clapped for dramatic effect while House squirted some lube onto his fingers before tossing the tube over to him. House sat across Wilson's lap while the younger man slicked up his fingers and Wilson watched him reach beneath and touch himself. Then he took Wilson's slippery hand in his own and guided it down.

Wilson was a little hesitant about this. He'd never touched anyone quite there, guy or girl, for non-medical purposes, but obviously it needed to be done if he was going to have his way with his best friend, which he desperately wanted to do. He moved slowly, watching House's reaction for signs of pain and telling him to relax even though he was a bit nervous himself. It was taking longer than he thought but he wanted House to be ready when they got to the actual part, not to hurt...House was keeping them occupied by alternating between stroking his own cock and Wilson's—just enough to keep them ready and wanting more, not enough to finish things before they even got started. And Wilson would touch House's prostate every now and again and whenever he did House would make a noise so quiet Wilson wasn't even sure if he was imagining it—for all he knew, he could be, because the noise sounded like a whimper and wasn't something one normally associated with House.

After a time that probably wasn't nearly as long as it seemed because Wilson was so aroused and wanted House so much waiting was like torture, he decided they were ready to move from foreplay to actual sex.

"About damn time," House muttered when Wilson pulled his hand away and leaned back on the bed. He ran his tongue up the length of Wilson's dick, making him gasp out in surprise, before coating the thing with lube. Wilson held House's hips and House held Wilson's as the older man raised himself up, weight on his left leg, and ever-so-slowly lowered himself onto his best friend's pulsing penis.

Wilson whimpered and House groaned in pleasure as he made it all the way in. House shifted himself to get more comfortable over Wilson, basically sitting on him with his legs on either side of Wilson's body, and the movement made the younger man shudder. They weren't even moving properly yet—he was just lying on his bed with his dick up his best friend's ass, and yet it was already one of the greatest (and he was thinking that by the time it was over it would be the greatest) sexual experiences of his life. House felt...so different from a woman, so much tighter and so...with his erection jutting out there and his face flushed and sweaty...so hot. So...Wilson just couldn't help but stare at him.

And House, of course, noticed. "Like what you see?" he asked suggestively, as though they weren't already naked and hard and about to wreck each other.

Wilson nodded, running a hand up House's side and across his chest. "You're so sexy," he said breathlessly.

There was something off about House's smile. It wasn't the self-satisfied smirk Wilson had expected nor was it the genuine smile he loved best but saw so rarely save for the last few hours. Weird, because House never gave fake smiles unless he was being sarcastic or messing with someone. But that...was what it was. House was humouring him.

"You...you don't believe me?" Wilson asked, not hiding the fact that he was slightly disappointed. "You think I'm lying to you?"

"Well of course I'm sexy," House said, rolling his eyes. "This thing's a real babe magnet." He gestured at his scar. "Sometimes I think about taking videotaping it and starting my own porn website. I'd make millions."

Wilson rolled his eyes. "House, I'm not talking about your stupid scar, though in case you haven't noticed it certainly hasn't turned me off in the slightest. I'm talking about you—your...smile, when you actually show it to me, your eyes when every time I look at them they're a different shade of blue that the sky can never replicate, your hands and the amazing things they can do, both in bed and out of it, your...body that based on what you eat and the amount of exercise you get should by all accounts be out of shape but amazingly isn't, your–"

"–my cock?" House suggested, leering at Wilson.

He had to laugh. "Yes, that too," he agreed, sliding a hand along it for emphasis.

House shuddered. "All right, I get it, Wilson, I'm the most attractive being you've ever laid your giant brown puppy-dog eyes upon; now are you gonna just lay there with your dick in my ass all night or are you actually gonna fuck me?"

"Well, as tempting as you make the former sound..." Wilson said, and then thrust up.

House cried out in surprise but recovered quickly. He rocked back and forth over Wilson's dick, making his whole body shake, and when he went to stroke himself in time with his movements Wilson batted his hand away to do it himself. Wilson continued to thrust, one arm curled around House's waist while the other stimulated his cock, and after a moment House gave a shout so loud that if it had come from Wilson House'd probably mock him for it.

"There, Wilson," he said breathlessly, panting and staring down at him with lust. "Just there."

Smirking lewdly, Wilson thrust again, harder this time, aiming for the same spot, and was rewarded when House's body quaked, shaking violently over him and House leaned down closer because he couldn't sit up in such a state.

"Oh, more, Wilson, more!" he moaned.

Wilson stared at him while they did it—House's different ecstacisised facial expressions positively captivated him. House rocked back and forth while Wilson pushed himself in and out, every so often hitting the spot that made House arch his back and clutch at Wilson, lose his breath to the point Wilson almost worried he would pass out.

But soon Wilson got in way too deep to even come close to worrying about anything; the way House moved around him, the amazingly erotic sounds he made—the sounds _Wilson_ was making him make—kept driving him closer and closer and he could just feel he was getting there. He just wanted more, more, and he went faster, he pumped House faster, not nearly coherent enough to do anything more complicated than moving his hand and hips back and forth, back and forth as though his life depended on it, which it felt like it did because this was just so much he might die if he stopped.

"Oh, House," he moaned, pushing into his best friend, feeling the rippling skin around him, the hot hardened flesh in his hand, every nerve in his body feeling every little touch, every heartbeat, every breath...

"Oh, Wilson," House echoed Wilson's moan. Wilson squinted his eyes open in time to see House's mouth fall open and his back arch as his body jerked uncontrollably, Wilson panted and thrusted harder to make it last, make it better, and House was moaning his name and exploding all over him and it was without a doubt the hottest thing Wilson had ever seen and he hated himself for having to close his eyes before it was over but he couldn't help it because he was coming and he arched and plunged up into his friend, feeling the release, feeling like fire and explosions and fireworks and waves of pleasure with each thrust, more...and when he emptied himself inside House he'd never in his life felt more completely fulfilled.

House had collapsed on top of him, covering him like a blanket, and Wilson could feel a rapidly beating heartbeat and he wasn't sure if it was his or House's—maybe both. House's head was tucked under his chin and his breath hit Wilson's neck with every pant. Wilson slid a hand through House's sweat-soaked hair and then let it rest between his shoulder blades. They lay like that for what felt like a long time but maybe really wasn't...one hundred heartbeats, two hundred heartbeats, three hundred...eventually the thumps became further and further apart and Wilson became more and more relaxed...having House's warm, comfortable weight on him probably assisted with that...

"So..." House murmured eventually, picking up his head to look Wilson in the eye. "Still not gay?"

Wilson frowned, pretending to think about it. "You know, I'm still not completely sure," he admitted. "I think, just to be on the safe side, we should do it again."

House grinned at him.

.

Wilson pulled on his shoes and checked the mirror to make sure his tie was straight, though of course it was. He went into the living room where House, still naked from their encounter that morning but for a blanket across his lap, was sitting on the couch playing a video game.

It was Saturday—only a week after the dinner he'd missed in New York, only four days since he and House had gotten together, yet so much had happened since then it was hard to believe it had only been that long.

"Well, I'm going in to work," Wilson announced. "I've only got a few patient meetings and some paperwork, so I should be back by dinnertime."

"Maybe I'll cook dinner and surprise you," House suggested, eyes on the enormous TV screen.

"It's not a surprise if you're telling me," Wilson pointed out, rolling his eyes.

"Good point," House agreed. "Cooking plans aborted."

Wilson chuckled softly.

"You're still here," House observed. "What, you want a goodbye kiss or something?"

"That would be nice," Wilson agreed.

"Then get your ass over here, I'm not getting up."

So Wilson strode over to the couch and leaned over to even his head with House's. House pressed pause on his game, put down the controller, and turned around. His lips met Wilson's for what really should have been just a quick peck, though House managed to sneak some tongue in. And when he pulled back, just for a fraction of a second Wilson saw it—the look. The one that told Wilson just how much House really did love him. And then it was gone and House turned away, still smiling though.

"Unless you change your mind and want another quickie, you're dismissed," House announced, picking up his controller and unpausing his game. "Aliens aren't gonna kill themselves, you know."


End file.
